


Resistance

by mjartrod



Category: Muse, Music RPF, Rock Music RPF
Genre: Action, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Romance, Slash, Suspense, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 07:57:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjartrod/pseuds/mjartrod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt Bellamy has always been a conspiracy theory enthusiast. But what happens when one day, as Muse are leaving Hong Kong after a gig for a month’s break, what is supposed to be a routine interrogation before boarding a flight turns into a manhunt operation where Matt unwillingly plays the main role?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story came to me after picking up an amazing book in a bookstore – Stieg Larsson’s first book of the Millennium trilogy. I wrote it at the start of 2010 and have posted it on other places but decided it was now time to add it to AO3 as well. I still love it after all this time; I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> All characters and events in this story are fictional, even those based on real people and material (having been altered, added or left out for dramatic purposes). I do not own Muse.
> 
> Would also like to thank Anya for being my beta again and for putting up with my rants and insecurities about this. She is SherlockianMuse here - go read her stories, she's a amazing writer.

  
**Hong Kong,**  
 **Sunday, 7TH February 2010**  
  
  
It was time to go home.  
  
Take a break and enjoy the time off. And, of course, in a few weeks start all over again.  
  
Muse and their crew had just arrived at the large, modern Chep Lap Kok airport in Hong Kong, ready for their flight at roughly 5PM back to London . In their luggage, they carried a feeling of immense accomplishment and delight. The Big Day Out tour and the side shows in Asia had been a success, the summer weather in New Zealand and Australia a major treat. In a way, and combined with the all days off in between shows, it had felt like being on holiday.  
  
The band had gladly signed some autographs for a group of fans, who had been waiting at the airport entrance hoping to get a glimpse of the band and an opportunity for a picture, and they were now standing in the queue in the crowded check-in hall.   
  
“For the thousandth time, Matt, and in case you forgot,” Dom started, pulling on the shoulder strap of the bag he carried. “I am not your personal assistant. You can carry your own laptop, you said it was only while you went to the toilet.”  
  
“I carry your faff bag all the time, five minutes more with my laptop won’t kill you.” He ignored Dom’s sigh, hands still firmly shoved in his grey coat's pockets, as the group finally advanced in the queue, the pretty, smiling blonde attendant behind the counter already greeting them.  
  
“Jesus, I’ll be sleeping all the way home, I imagine,” Chris yawned again, Tom fiddling with his phone at his side as the boarding passes were handed to them.  
  
“Nice one, Chris. Next time open just a bit wider and we’ll be able to see down to your stomach,” he mocked, turning the phone to the others to show them the picture he had just taken. Everyone laughed. “How about we put this one on Twitter?”  
  
“Don’t say that word in front of him. You wanna hear the old man ranting about the internet again and how his kid has a Twitter account now, too?” Morgan laughed.  
  
“You just wait until yours grow up,” the bassist mumbled.  
  
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bellamy?” The blonde British Airways attendant interrupted. “Could I have your passport again, please?”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Matt fished it out of his pocket where he had placed it only seconds before and gave it to her. “Is there a problem?” He finally asked, the young woman staring at her screen with a slight crease in her forehead.  
  
“Oh no, just a small technical issue... appears to be fixed.” She returned the passport to him together with his boarding pass and a smile. “Have a nice flight.”   
  
He joined the others who were waiting for him in a small circle a little further ahead.   
  
“Tasty one, wasn’t she?” Tom commented as they unhurriedly followed the directions to passport and security control. “Wouldn’t mind giving her my passport again. Along with something else.” They all chuckled. “What d’you reckon, Dom? You’ve been pretty tame lately, where’s the wild beast? Didn’t that one tickle your fancy? Or you’ve got such high standards now that you only touch princesses?”  
  
“Excuse me,” a powerful voice boomed behind them, their chattering cut short. “Mr. Matthew Bellamy?”  
  
They all stopped and turned, curiously observing the two men standing behind them. They weren’t very tall, but their presence was nevertheless intimidating: dark blue uniforms and grim faces, armed with what were probably automatic weapons. There was no doubt they were responsible for the airport’s security. Matt raised his hand, identifying himself.  
  
“That’d be me.”  
  
“Would you mind coming with us, please? There’s a few questions we’d like you to answer.”  
  
Chris yawned again, Dom smirked, pulling on the shoulder strap of the laptop bag, the others shrugging. Unfortunately, ever since that one time at Heathrow when Matt had joked about terrorism, it had become more and more common for him to be pulled aside before boarding a flight, for a small ‘conversation’ about his views on the government and terrorism. Although it usually happened more frequently when they flew to the United States, it was not out of the ordinary for it to occur when flying home; it had certainly happened enough times to make it feel almost like routine.  
  
“Go on, I’ll catch up with you all later.”  
  
Dom Anderson checked one of the clocks on the pristine walls. “Still early, we’ll wait for you here.”  
  
The frontman followed the bulky security guards, hands in the pockets of his grey coat, throwing a disguised eye roll to the group over his shoulder. It was a pain in the arse to do this all the time and he berated himself again for acting like an idiot that one time. Clearly a sense of humour wasn’t part of these people’s jobs, but he had only himself to blame. He should have known better. They were leading him through a series of hallways now, walking side by side with him and, not for the first time, Matt felt like some sort of criminal. Even more so with two heavily armed men escorting him.  
  
He wasn’t used to being called right after check-in, it normally happened at passport control or right before boarding, which sometimes turned into a hassle because it could delay the flight. Fucking tight security with everything these days, he ranted to himself. They finally stopped in front of a door, which they opened and motioned for Matt to go through. Stepping confidently into a white room, the singer suddenly stopped at the sight of the table in the centre where two more Asian men in dark suits were sitting. A large rectangular mirror was placed on the wall right behind them.   
  
The man on the right was very tanned and had a seriously unfriendly look; the one on the left, older, paler and wearing wire-framed glasses, seemed less disagreeable. Both possessed the stance of figures of authority. The guy on the right indicated the chair opposite them for Matt to sit. He did as requested, trying not to show too much curiosity about the mirror on the wall, unsure whether to keep his arms on the top of the table or on his lap, whether to cross his legs or sit upright, whether to look straight at the men or look down at the table. As always, he discovered that he’d never quite got used to this, no matter how many times it had happened.  
  
The door was shut and for a few moments there was silence, the four men in the room simply staring at Matt.  
  
“Your passport.”  
  
The man on the right stretched out his small tanned hand and again Matt pulled it out of his coat pocket, clumsily dropping his boarding pass under his chair in the process. Bending to pick it up from the floor, only then did he place his ID on the man’s palm; his grim expression told the singer that he had already waited for too long. He then handed it to the man at his side and sat back in his chair, observing Matt intently. This was slightly off the usual procedures and the singer cleared his throat, getting antsy with all the silence.  
  
His passport was scrutinised back and forth, all the stamps inspected, before the man in glasses raised his head and faced the singer. “Matthew James Bellamy.” He spoke in a deep voice, emphasising the ‘a’ in Bellamy, and Matt groaned inside, wishing they’d hurry the fuck up. “Born on the 9th June, 1978. Cambridge , England .”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“In the past month you’ve been to Japan , South Korea , New Zealand , Australia , Singapore , Hong Kong .”  
  
“I travel a lot. I play in a band.” He rubbed his nose, voice trailing off as the man narrowed his eyes at him, his expression turning suddenly unpleasant. Should he not have spoken? “That’s, that’s my job.”  
  
“We know.”  
  
Leaning back in his seat, he tossed Matt’s passport onto the table, while the man on the right, who had been fairly quiet so far, leant forward, interlacing his fingers, still not taking his eyes off Matt. The English musician glanced around the room, decidedly uncomfortable. Of course, he’d been in this situation before and he couldn't say it had ever been an enjoyable experience; but for the first time he felt like he was actually being interrogated for committing a crime, the presence of the two armed security guards standing by the door not helping in the slightest. He looked again at the mirror. It did look awfully like those mirrors you saw in interrogation rooms in films.  
  
“Do you remember where you were on the 27th of January?”  
  
The question took him by surprise, he wasn’t expecting anything of the sort. They usually asked him about his political views, about his thoughts on subjects like terrorism and violence, and he always told them what they wanted to hear, gave them the PC crap and that was it. Certainly nothing like this. Still, they were waiting for a reply and he had to think for a moment, deciding not to ask impertinent questions that could land him in even more trouble.  
  
“I was in Australia , I’m pretty sure. I can’t really remember, it was maybe Melbourne or Adelaide or...” He paused, moving his hand to his pocket. “I’d have to check my iPhone, I’ve got my schedule there. I have a goldfish memory.” He let out a nervous chuckle, but no one else in the room laughed.  
  
“You were in Melbourne .”  
  
“Yes, yes that’s it.” He nodded. This was getting a little too odd.  
  
“And what did you do that night?”  
  
“I...” He stroked his chin. The gig had been the previous day, he was sure of it. This was the night of... that was the tennis night. He’d won a shitload of money off Lily. “I went to watch an Australian Open match, you know, the tennis tournament.”  
  
“And after that?”  
  
“I went back to my hotel.”  
  
“And after that?”  
  
He paused, slightly surprised. “I... went to bed.”  
  
“You went to your room?”  
  
He fidgeted in his seat and hoped he wasn’t about to break out in a cold sweat. What the fuck was this about? “Yeah, I went to my room.”  
  
“Alone?”  
  
His jaw tensed and he had to gather all his strength and cool to speak without his voice quivering. “I went to my room, went to the toilet, undressed and went to bed. Alone. I didn’t pick up a groupie on my way up to the room, if that’s what you’re implying.”  
  
The man turned to his colleague and they exchanged inscrutable looks, before returning their full attention to Matt with narrowed eyes. “For someone who claims to have a bad memory, you are very sure of what you did that night.”  
  
Heart racing, Matt hoped he was keeping his best poker face on. Yes, he remembered that night very well and was unlikely to forget it any time soon. For a moment, he re-evaluated his decision and considered relaying another account, but as his mind worked furiously over what could have possibly prompted these questions, he concluded that nothing that he could have said would change anything. He hadn’t done anything wrong – they hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t illegal, it was ridiculous. What the hell did these people in Hong Kong have to do with it, anyway?  
  
“So on the night of the 27th of January, Matthew James Bellamy attended a tennis match in Melbourne and then he went straight to bed in his hotel room.” The one who’d examined his passport earlier reiterated, adjusting his glasses. “Is there anything you wish to change or add?”  
  
“We had a few drinks at the hotel bar all together before going up.”  
  
“You and...?”  
  
“Me and Dom, who is the drummer in the band, Tom Kirk, who’s a friend and works for us, and Lily Allen, she’s an English singer. You might know who she is.”  
  
The grim guy leaned forward again, breath smelling of stale coffee reaching Matt’s nostrils. “What are your thoughts on Zhang Hongbo?”  
  
Matt blinked and he was sure his face was blank for a moment. “My thoughts on what…? Sorry? Is that someone’s name? Can you say that again?”  
  
“Zhang Hongbo.” The look the man gave him was bordering on hateful. “What about the Sun Yee On Triad?”  
  
“The what? I’ve no idea what that is.” A triad? Were they seriously asking him about a  _triad_?  
  
“You’ve never heard of it?”  
  
Matt shook his head in bewilderment. “Zhan? Zhang?” He tried pronouncing it a few times. “I’ve never heard that name before.”  
  
“You play poker. You gamble.”  
  
“Yeah, but what’s that got to do with anything?” How did they know he played poker? It wasn’t exactly a secret he was fond of casinos, but still... “What is this about?” He finally asked, unable to stop himself anymore.  
  
“Where is your laptop?”  
  
He was stumped again. “With the rest of my luggage outside.” He wasn’t sure why, but something told him he didn’t want to give away the answer to that question so easily. And it hadn’t been exactly a lie anyway...  
  
Apparently they weren’t even questioning what he had said, simply turning to each other, exchanging a few quick words in Cantonese before standing, motioning for Matt to stand as well. “You may go.”  
  
He still felt slightly in shock, but he jumped out of his seat, anxious to get the hell out of there and board his flight. He had taken no more than two steps towards the door before he turned back to them, eyes scanning the table where his red British passport still lay out of reach.  
  
“Um, I need my passport.”  
  
The man who had been sitting on the right, glaring at him throughout, grabbed the small book slowly. And then, staring straight at Matt, pocketed it with a nasty grin.  
  
“You wait outside until someone meets you.”  
  
Matt couldn't believe his own ears. “But I have-” He interrupted himself, swallowing all the insults he wanted to throw at them, his mouth going dry. What the fuck did they think they were doing? Were they trying to make sure he missed his flight?  
  
He spun on his heels and left without a word, fuming, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, very worried. Something very fishy was going on. That had been an interrogation. And to add to it all, he didn’t have the slightest clue what those questions were about, he didn’t know who that man was (it was the name of a man, wasn’t it?), he didn’t understand why were they asking him about his activities on a night which he had spent in a different country... He heard the stomping of the boots of the uniformed security guards behind him, low voices speaking quick Cantonese in a monotone and then fading away as they took a different hallway; he desperately wished he knew what they were saying.  
  
“There he is.” Matt heard a familiar voice and spotted Dom Anderson walking towards him with a magazine folded in his hand, pulling his small trolley case. Chris, Tom and Dom followed behind him, all looking bored and sleepy. “What’s up?” Anderson frowned, immediately sensing Matt’s nervousness.  
  
“I don’t know what the fuck’s going on, but that was bloody weird.” Matt lowered his voice, looking over his shoulder as the others joined him and Anderson, intrigued now. “They took my passport and asked me a load of weird shit. Fucking hell, that was an interrogation about some Chinese dude and a triad and they wanted to know where I’d been when we were in Melbourne- ”  
  
“Woah, woah, woah,” Dom Anderson raised his hands, asking him to slow down, the words tumbling out of the singer’s mouth at frightening speed. “What do you mean they’ve got your passport? Why didn’t they give you back your passport? Matt, they can’t keep it just like that!”  
  
“But they didn’t ask me any of the usual questions! Didn’t you hear what I just said?” He hissed before he went on to summarise the whole meeting. “ _Don’t_ say you have my laptop, or they’ll keep us here for longer, I just have a feeling,” he warned Dom.  
  
“You lied to them,” Dom said quietly, and for a moment neither of the two spoke, only exchanging a long look. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if they want to give you shit, they probably can.”  
  
“He didn’t lie, it’s not a lie to say the laptop is here, he just didn’t tell them who had it.” Tom reasoned. But both ignored his comment. “Jesus, this is bloody odd!” He scratched his head.  
  
“I’m right, yeah? This is fucking bizarre.” Matt rubbed his face with his hand, honestly wishing someone would tell him he was being paranoid. He only wanted to go home, the last thing he needed now was problems with the authorities in Hong Kong . Or Australia . Or anywhere, really.  
  
“Matt? Matt Bellamy?”  
  
A young man wearing a uniform with a small notebook in his hand stood behind them and if at first they thought he was part of the staff at the airport, they soon realised he was only there as a fan. The boy had an uneasy smile on his lips and Dom Anderson practically ripped the notebook out of his hands for the guys to scribble a quick autograph. The tour manager was about to give him a bollocking for approaching them again, as he recognised him as one of the fans who had been waiting at the entrance outside, when the boy started speaking in a murmur to Matt, his head low.  
  
“They are calling the police.” His voice was so small that Matt was the only one who could hear him clearly. “I heard them saying they are calling the police because of you. Please don’t tell anyone I warned you. But I know that you don’t have anything to do with the Sun Yee On.”  
  
“What?” Dom mouthed, Matt gaping.  
  
“Thank you so much for the autographs,” the boy grinned, thanking them at normal volume and then walking away, leaving them all stunned.  
  
“Wait...” Tom tried weakly, but the boy actually quickened his pace and the photographer swayed in hesitation, struggling not to follow him.  
  
“Leave him, leave him be,” Anderson advised, holding his elbow.  
  
“They’re getting me arrested.” Matt was frozen on the spot, his voice slightly high pitched. “They’ve called the police to arrest me!”  
  
“You don’t even know if that’s true, we don’t know who that boy was.”  
  
The look Matt shot Dom could kill. “Why would he lie? I’m not being paranoid, don’t you think this is all too much of a coincidence? Me being interrogated about some triad and a Chinese guy-”  
  
“Matt. Calm down, Matt.”  
  
“I’m not going, I’m not going anywhere with them.” And he started looking around, checking for any signs of police, security guards, terrorists, anyone that could have their eyes on him. And all of a sudden, he felt an itch, something prickling, crawling all over his body. Everybody was watching him. Everybody was potentially dangerous, everybody had malicious intentions, his every move was being followed by someone. His eyes found security cameras everywhere and behind his back he could almost smell their anxiety. “I’m not getting arrested here and not without knowing what’s going on.”  
  
“What, you're gonna run away if they really intend on arresting you?” Dom’s face contorted into an expression of concern when he realised Matt was staring at him very seriously. “You’ve lost it.”  
  
“You won’t even make it out of the airport,” Chris intervened. “That's crazy, you have nowhere to go.”  
  
“All of this is crazy, don't you see what's going on? They could have asked me a load of things before calling the police, but they didn’t believe anything I said, they fucking had it in for me from the start.” He looked away from Chris, instead scanning the area surrounding them, looking for the exit. “If they don’t want to arrest me, then there’s nothing wrong with leaving, but if they want to throw me into a bloody cell then I'm not gonna wait for them. And it’s not like they told me I couldn’t leave.”  
  
“You have nowhere to go!” Chris repeated in a hiss, distressed.  
  
“Unless you try the embassy.”  
  
Everyone turned to Dom Anderson. No one had a better suggestion and it was obvious Matt wouldn't be deterred, the singer gripping the material of his coat in his fingers, brows knit as his gaze darted suspiciously.   
  
In Matt's mind, there was no doubt that the warning from the young man, added to what had happened in the interrogation, was real. He didn’t know much about the prisons in Hong Kong and as for their judicial system, he only had a vague idea that it was similar to the British one. But he was sure he'd be thrown into jail without much ado if he didn't act. How many innocent individuals ended up behind bars without a trial, without a chance to even properly defend themselves? It happened every day, all over the world. The general public just didn’t hear about it often in the mainstream news; it wasn't convenient to let the people know how often and how badly the authorities and the police screwed up.   
  
The small group of fans at the entrance hadn't yet left, probably because they could still see the band. An idea instantly formed in his mind. At the moment, Anderson 's suggestion seemed the lesser evil. Matt didn't know what was going on, but perhaps if he reached the embassy at least he could manage to stay out of jail until everything was sorted.   
  
One thing was certain: he was  _not_ going to stay at the airport and wait to see what happened next.


	2. TWO

 

  
“I’m going over there to the fans again,” Matt lifted his chin in the general direction of the group armed with cameras and wearing Muse merchandise. “Chat for a bit and take some pictures. If you’ll come along I can maybe, I don’t know, do a dash outside and try to catch a taxi to the embassy.”  
  
“You’re mental, how is that ever going to work?” Chris clasped his hands to his head. This was all too much. “Matt, listen to me, if they want to arrest you then they won’t let you leave the airport.”  
  
“I’ll call the taxi,” Dom declared. “You stay with the fans while I go outside on the phone and then I'll let you know when I’ve got a taxi ready for you.”   
  
Matt quickly shook his head one side to the other, despite Dom’s resolute words. “No chance, they’ll know you’re helping me and then you‘ll be in deep shit too for being an accomplice. I'm going alone.”  
  
“It doesn‘t matter. If the police are coming for you, then none of us is leaving Hong Kong anyway.”  
  
Matt opened his mouth to object again, but Chris, Tom and Dom Anderson were nodding in agreement with the drummer, concurring that they should all help cover for Matt's exit.   
  
Nervous stomachs, sweaty hands and closed fists. It was with mixed feelings that they took the escalators to the lower level, the tour manager leading. Their hearts were pounding as they marched to where the dedicated fans still stood, the enthusiastic faces – and the glassy doors to the exterior – drawing nearer. Trying his best to avoid looking uncomfortable, Matt forced a smile on his face even as the corner of his eye caught a distant security guard watching them.  
  
“This is fucking mental,” he heard Chris mumbling by his side. “For God's sake, if they point a gun at you don’t you dare try and play the bloody hero, just do what they tell you and don’t disobey.”  
  
Nodding anxiously as Chris squeezed his shoulder, Matt’s gaze followed Dom as he pulled out his phone and wandered gingerly to the main entrance, talking or pretending to talk to whoever.   
  
The fans greeted them with the expected excitement but also some surprise, Tom making up an excuse on the spot, something to do with the flight being delayed. Interacting with everyone on auto-pilot, Matt’s mind couldn’t be further away; and no doubt their actions had been noticed, as two more security guards were already observing them with interest.   
  
“You should stay for a few days longer,” a short-haired girl with an 'Absolution' hoodie said. Hong Kong is great.”  
  
Matt looked at the girl as if for the first time, although he had taken at least two pictures with her, and then at Dom who was already outside. “Would you do me a big, huge favour?”  
  
Thirty seconds later, the girl and one of her friends were leaving with glowing faces and radiant smiles, making a detour towards Dom on their way out and delivering their message with a giggle. The minutes that followed went by excruciatingly slowly but when Dom turned to Matt and stared straight at him, the message loud and clear, everything happened incredibly fast. The frontman went through the sliding doors with swift steps, quickly reaching the fans who were standing by a red taxi and holding the door open for him with a grin. He flew inside and before he had a chance to protest, Dom was hopping in alongside him, shutting the door after thanking the girls. The car screeched as the driver stepped on the accelerator.  
  
“Didn’t they find it strange that you asked them to get us a taxi to the embassy?” The blond asked, not wanting to look backwards, afraid to see the airport’s security running after them, and not wishing to divert the driver’s attention. It seemed so easy, it was almost worrying.  
  
“I told them I’d tweet about it later, that it was a sort of treasure hunt.”  
  
Dom couldn't stop a small smile from reaching his lips.   
  
“You shouldn’t have come,” Matt whispered, noticing the taxi driver looking at them both through the rear view mirror. Stealing a quick glance outside, there seemed to be some commotion at the airport entrance. Though of course he could be imagining things, and it was just the regular agitation at departures.  
  
“I’ll be there to play the role of the sane one,” Dom patted his knee, Matt feeling his muscles relax slightly. “We're going to be laughing about this tomorrow in London, how we smuggled you out of Hong Kong’s airport because someone played a stupid prank on you and you thought you were getting arrested.”  
  
Somehow Matt had a hard time believing that.  
  
  
They hadn’t been on the road for more than a few minutes when the driver addressed them, speaking in halting English.  
  
“Is English embassy or consulate?” He was met with bemusement from both men in the back. “Different entrance.”  
  
“Oh, uh...” The one with brown hair and the weird grey coat turned to the other in the leather jacket, scratching the back of his neck. “That would be the embassy, yeah? I, uh, forgot some papers there. Can you get us there as soon as possible? 'Cos we don’t wanna miss our flight.”  
  
“Yes, yes,” he picked up the radio transmitter. “I ask now direct way.”   
  
In the back of the taxi, Matt twirled his black iPhone in his hand, any minute expecting a call from the Hong Kong authorities demanding that he turn himself in, naming him as a suspect in some case, probably something he had never heard of. Mentions of triads and unknown people at the interrogation were doing his head in. He was at least secretly happy that Dom was there. The drummer had been right: even if Matt could've manage to get to the embassy without any problems, he would’ve had a difficult time explaining everything by himself. He didn’t even have ID.  
  
The loud ringing of his iPhone startled him and he furrowed his brow in confusion at the identity of the caller on the display.  
  
“What does Carla want? She can’t be serious, talking about my investments now.”  
  
“Carla?” Dom looked down at the buzzing device. “You mean your financial manager? In England?”  
  
“Hello?” He picked up the call. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, how are you? Um, yeah, not the best time to talk, can I call you back later? Eh? Okay, what is it then?” He paused. “A transfer of funds? What transfer, how would I know? You know I don’t keep up with any of that.”   
  
Dom couldn't help but look at Matt when his band mate paused again to listen to the female voice on the other end of the line, and he could swear he saw his face blanch. Matt didn’t say a word for ages but then Dom was distracted by the incoming SMS alert on his own iPhone. Morgan had texted him. Muse's touring fourth member had gone on to the gate with the rest of the crew at the airport, while he, Chris, Tom and Anderson waited for Matt; the drummer wondered whether Morgan was even aware of what was going on. And then his heart skipped a beat when he read the short message, evidently typed in a hurry-  
  
 _Run to embassy, don’t get caught, police arresting us all_  
  
“Listen Carla, I’m gonna call you back in a minute, okay?” By his side, Dom heard Matt hanging up and leaning forward to the driver. “Can you pull over now? Over there? Change of plans.” And he turned to Dom. Eyes wide and pale as a ghost, he was clearly distraught about something.   
  
“Embassy, stop in embassy,” was the driver’s answer.   
  
“What? No, no, no. You stop here, now,” Matt pointed to the floor, indicating he wanted to leave at that exact point. “We’re not going there anymore.”  
  
The middle aged driver was showing signs of nervousness all of a sudden, glancing between the rear view mirror, the road, the radio. Dom looked outside as well - was he actually speeding? And in the middle of the chaotic traffic?  
  
“Listen, mate,” Matt was decidedly edgy now, his voice louder; he had noticed the same as Dom. “Pull the fuck over, we want to leave now!”  
  
“I take you to embassy!”  
  
Dom’s head darted one side to the other as he searched outside for something that would justify the man’s behaviour. And then he understood when his eyes landed on the radio transmitter: he had obviously received instructions to drive them to God knew where. How foolish they had been for thinking they could have gotten away so easily!   
  
Matt was already yelling at the driver, about to reach for the steering wheel, when Dom grabbed him by the shoulders to pull him back down, fearing they’d be thrown head first though the windshield.   
  
“Stop it, you’ll make us crash!”  
  
Matt threw him a furious look but then the taxi took a sudden, sharp turn. Sliding in a bundle across the seat and against the door on Dom’s side, they held on as best they could as the man slammed on the brakes and the car came to an abrupt halt.   
  
An enormous traffic jam was blocking the whole street and Dom didn’t waste a second: he pushed the door open and they both stumbled out before the driver could lock them in. They were already sprinting across the road when the man jumped out, gesticulating and shouting in Cantonese, zigzagging through the vehicles while grasping each other by the arm. Dom held the strap of the laptop bag tightly for fear of losing it.  
  
Matt led them blindly along the streets, not having a clue where he was going, and after turning a corner, they landed in a crowded avenue. They blended in with the mass of people that filled the sidewalks, shops with flashy window displays on both sides of the road and an endless sea of signs in Cantonese above their heads reminding them how far away from home they were.   
  
Doggedly ignoring the sirens and honking that came from the area they had fled, for several minutes they didn’t exchange a word; simply walking at a fast pace, breathing hard as their hearts raced, keeping their heads down and avoiding eye contact with anyone.  
  
“Morgan texted,” Dom broke the silence as he handed Matt his own phone so he could read the message for himself. The singer didn’t say anything, wiping his nose nervously and glancing around as he returned the item. “Why can’t we go to the embassy anymore?” The blond finally asked.  
  
“Carla says the police, our police, contacted her just now because of some funds in my account,” his voice was rough as he spoke in one breath. “Think they wanted to know where the money came from, I don’t know, I wanted to get out of that fucking car first...” Matt had taken out his iPhone again and was placing it to his ear. “Pick up, pick up, come on!” He urged out loud, suddenly turning on to another busy street and grabbing Dom’s arm, nearly making him trip. “Yes, Carla, it’s me, tell me what’s going on. Hold on, hold on a sec,” he selected the speakerphone function and nodded at Dom, holding the device between the two of them. “You can talk now.”  
  
“I asked,” Matt’s financial manager continued, “were you expecting any funds to be credited to your account? From New York? Royalties, I don’t know. Anything.”  
  
“How much money did you say that was again? Not sure I heard right.”  
  
“Seven million, Matt. It was credited yesterday.”  
  
“Dollars?”  
  
“Pounds.” Dom's jaw nearly dropped at this announcement. They could afford to build at least three more stage sets for their current tour with that amount. “The police were here this morning, about an hour ago,” she continued. “I had barely arrived in the office. They had all your account details, they knew the exact amount that had been transferred and wanted to know where it came from.”  
  
“What did you tell them?”  
  
“This isn’t Switzerland, Matt, you know our laws aren’t very protective of the client’s rights when the authorities are involved and in a case like this... “  
  
“Am I being investigated, is that what it is?” Matt exclaimed in disbelief.  
  
“I don’t know anything, I’m sorry. I could only tell them that I was sure that it had to be related to the band’s activities and it’s all legal.” There was a pause. “Tell me you were expecting this transaction and that there isn’t anything wrong with it.”  
  
“I’ve no idea where that money came from!” He roared. “We’d be doing gigs on the moon if I got transfers like that all the time!”  
  
“I’ve asked your accountants in the mean time, by the way, but everyone’s clueless.”  
  
“Can’t you try and find out where it comes from?”  
  
“I’ll try but I don’t know how long that will take, could be a couple of hours.”  
  
Matt exchanged a look with Dom. “Call me as soon as you find something out, it doesn’t matter the hour.”  
  
“I thought you were flying back to London today? I was expecting you for that meeting we set for tomorr-“  
  
“I’m still in Hong Kong, I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” He bit his lip. “See what you can find and call me as soon as possible. Please, it’s very urgent.”  
  
They walked side by side in silence after he hung up, Matt checking his bank account online via his phone, confirming everything Carla had said. It was clear to Dom why Matt didn’t want to go to the embassy anymore. Whatever this was, it was big, and the police back home were in on it as well. If they had managed to fly to England, they probably would have had quite the welcoming committee on their arrival...   
  
“It could be a mistake,” Dom offered weakly.   
  
“Someone is setting me up,” Matt began, putting the phone in his pocket. “That money’s not mine but someone transferred it to my account to make it seem like I stole it, or were being paid for doing something, and in a ridiculously obvious way, too. It’s not mine!” He angrily repeated. “I’m not going anywhere until I know exactly what I’m being accused of and why.”  
  
“What we need is to call our lawyers.”  
  
“Those bloody idiots?” He laughed bitterly. “They’d tell me straight away to turn myself in!”  
  
“Have you wondered if maybe that isn’t such bad advice?” Dom suggested, facing Matt cautiously. This was starting to seem worryingly complex, but what could they possibly achieve by wandering around Hong Kong without knowing what was going on and without anyone to ask for help?  
  
“Are you actually telling me I should voluntarily go to them and say,” the singer stretched out his wrists, “'Here, arrest me, take me to court and sentence me to a lifetime in prison.'?! Don’t you see this must be a fucking monumental scam? They even went so far as to deposit all that bloody money in my account!”  
  
“Matt.” Dom turned left as they went by a narrow alley. Tall buildings with laundry drying over balconies surrounded them, and he leaned back against a grimy wall, hands on his hips. “We have two options: we can go to the embassy, though fuck knows where we are now and how far away that is, so we can try to get help and rid you of this nonsense; or we can wander around and eventually get caught by the Hong Kong police, which could get complicated. Do you even know anything about the legal system here or how extradition works?”  
  
“I don’t even know what I’m being accused of!” Matt flailed, eyes flashing outrage. “But it’s worth seven million fucking quid, so it can’t have been something good!”  
  
“It could be nothing but a huge misunderstanding, we’re jumping to conclusions without knowing anything.”  
  
“You think this is all a coincidence, then?”   
  
The twinge of sarcasm didn’t go unnoticed by Dom. “I don’t know, Matt.” He was sceptical, but they couldn't completely rule that chance out yet. “But we won’t be able to stay on the run for long, and we can’t leave the country as you don’t have a passport. And probably everyone from the police here and back in England are looking for you...”  
  
“Fuck you! I can’t believe you’re telling me this!” Matt exploded, twirling on the spot, back towards Dom as he looked up, before turning to him again. “I have to know what I’m dealing with here before I even try and contact someone. Don’t you get it? I already lied anyway!” His eyes shimmered. “I told them that I spent the night of the tennis in Melbourne alone in my room and it’s fucking obvious now they knew it was a lie! I’ve given them another reason to doubt me and worse – do you know what this means, Dom? Do you? It means I’m being watched! Someone’s been watching me, fuck knows why and for how long!”  
  
Dom rubbed his temples, Matt’s dramatics and paranoia kicking in big time and already taking their toll. “Why would they care what you did that night, Matt?” He reasoned. “Why would it matter? Would it change anything if you told them the truth?”  
  
“But that’s the thing, isn’t it? What if they’re charging me with a murder? They asked me about some Chinese dude and a triad! Maybe they were checking if I had an alibi. And in that case they wouldn’t believe you anyway, they’d think you were only trying to protect me, and of course nobody else knew where we were to corroborate.” Silence followed his words and when the singer spoke again, his voice was more reserved. “They asked me about my laptop. There must be something on there they’re after, I need to sit down and check it.” He pointed to the bag Dom carried, the drummer sighing. “I don’t have a passport, Dom, but you do.”  
  
“Matt...“  
  
“If you want to leave now, do what you think is best. I won’t stop you and I'll respect any decision you make. I’ve made mine, but you don’t have to make the same one.”  
  
He seemed so serious and solemn that Dom had to smile. “Don’t be daft. You really think I could  _ever_ leave you out here alone?”


	3. THREE

 

  
Paranoid personality disorder.   
  
Mild Tourette’s syndrome.   
  
Untreated ADHD as a child; still exhibiting symptoms as an adult.  
  
Caught several times over the years snooping around top secret government projects, several references to brushes with the authorities in the past, some very particular sexual preferences... Nothing scandalous, though, the man concluded as he read the subject’s file with moderate interest. Granted, this guy was a bit of an oddball, but hardly one of the worst cases he had ever encountered.   
  
He would concede that it was intriguing how the subject had all the ingredients to be a well known and controversial celebrity, but still managed to stay under the radar. Potentially dangerous ideas were contained, the cult and his following restricted to a community that was more interested in his band’s activities than his theories.  
  
Still, this type of subject wasn’t necessarily the most harmless; in fact, they could prove to be the opposite, because they were often underestimated and could strike when it was least expected. This was why they were kept under surveillance. With a low risk rate in this case, but under control nonetheless.  
  
Matthew James Bellamy’s risk rate had been upgraded quite recently, though. He shook his head at the idiocy of recent events; it was almost out of character for someone so paranoid to leave so many clues behind. The man was about to start typing, entering the newest information but before he began, he re-read one of the latest entries in the file, dated December of 2009. Bellamy’s name had appeared on a list they had been privy to. At first sight, there was no relation, no link between the names it contained. Of course, the document was still being analysed; perhaps they would have answers soon.   
  
Sitting back in his chair, he picked up his glass of rich amber-coloured whisky and took a sip. Glenlivet XXV, a special gift from an old friend. The aroma alone made him feel like he’d walked into an antique shop.  
  
He looked again at Bellamy’s file. Coincidences did not exist; he had learnt a long time ago that nothing happened without a reason. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to prepare for an intervention in this case. Just to make sure things didn’t go askew.  
  


***

  
  
Matt and Dom wandered the streets of Hong Kong, more specifically the mainland, north of Kowloon, as they had gathered through the GPS function of their iPhones. It was relatively quiet and they decided to find a café where they could sit, maybe drink something to settle the nerves, and check Matt’s laptop. Every siren and car honk startled them and more than once they abruptly changed direction after spotting in the distance someone that appeared to be dressed in uniform.   
  
“You should get rid of that coat,” Dom said after noticing yet another person giving Matt a head to toe glance. “It attracts too much attention.”  
  
Matt immediately took the grey and white coat off without a word, folding it to carry under his arm. It was a little cold to be wearing only a v-neck black jumper with a t-shirt underneath and grey suit trousers, but best not take any chances. He suddenly stopped.   
  
“D’you have any money?” Matt started rummaging through his pockets.  
  
“Just...” The drummer pulled some crumpled bills and a few coins out of his own pockets. “I don’t even know how much this is. I’ve just used my cards. Or bummed cash off Anderson.”  
  
Matt was the same. “We don’t have any money, you realise that? We can’t use any cards or they’ll know where we are. It’s most likely they’re cancelled already.”  
  
“Shit, hadn’t thought of that. How expensive is this place?”  
  
They both slowed their step, looking around in uncertainty at the almost chaotic number of neon ads and signs, the majority in Cantonese, without any English translation.  
  
“Whatever, we’ll think about it later. Why don’t we go and sit over there,” Matt pointed to a café across the street, small, curtained windows offering what seemed like an ideal spot to sit inconspicuously.  
  
After crossing the street and tentatively stepping inside, pleased to see a lack of patrons, they chose to sit in a recessed corner that was still near a window, ignoring the ample choice of pastries and other snacks at the counter and what the TV on the wall above was broadcasting. Matt’s white Macbook was out of its bag and on the table even before one of the waitresses had reached them to take their order. They absentmindedly requested tea, their attention focused on the task at hand.   
  
They opened file folders and quickly searched the hard drive, but at first glance there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary.  
  
“Are you online? Why don’t you check your e-mails?” Dom suggested, peering at the screen from his seat adjacent to Matt.  
  
“Of course I’m not online, you arse. Ever heard of geolocation? You know how easy it can be to trace someone’s IP?” Matt berated him, eyes flicking across the screen. “But yeah, I can still check what I had in my inbox up until this morning... though I don’t see anything odd...” A gut feeling prompted him to direct the cursor to the ‘sent’ folder.  
  
“Jesus, you’ve got a shitload of messages there.” Dom decided that perhaps it wasn’t the best moment to ask Matt how long he was spending online lately when he was alone.   
  
Matt narrowed his eyes and leant closer to the screen, twitching in his seat. “What the fuck is this? I swear this wasn’t here earlier!” Dom’s bum was nearly off his chair as Matt clicked one of the sent e-mails open. “I don’t recognise this address, I can tell you that. It’s from the other week...”  
  
“Here you are.” The waitress arrived with the teapot and cups and Dom sat back down, smiling pleasantly at her and then checking over his shoulder, all too aware that had it been the police he wouldn’t have noticed. Matt had a better position to be keep an eye on whoever came through the door, though. “It’s 1,900 HKD.”  
  
Paying quickly and willing the girl to leave as fast as possible, Dom returned his attention to the computer, Matt reading the e-mail with an apprehensive air.  
  
“Well? What is it?”  
  
Matt pointed a long forefinger at the screen. “Apparently I emailed this Hongbo Zhang guy to... hey, how do you say this?” His blue eyes widened. “Dom, it’s the name they mentioned at the airport!” He lowered his voice. “I mean, what the fuck is this? Who the fuck had access to my bloody e-mail account to send this shit?” And he almost slapped the laptop, leaning back in his chair in frustration while Dom hurried to spin the item towards him so he could read it for himself.  
  
 _Deadline is tomorrow. Have you made your decision or do you need more persuasion?_  
  
It was the continuation of a threat of some sort. He read it several times in bewilderment before looking at Matt, whose arms were crossed with a pout on his face, total outrage and indignation brewing.   
  
“Noticed the date?”  
  
Dom checked the header again: 27th January, local time 2am. That was Melbourne. Matt  _definitely_ wasn’t at the computer at the time recorded...  
  
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, as much as he had tried to be optimistic and not imagine the worst, Matt was right - someone was trying to set him up. It was undeniable. For the first time since this ordeal began, the reality of the situation and its possible consequences hit Dom hard, shaking him to the core. It made him feel small and insignificant; in the middle of a situation which was being revealed as intricate and all-encompassing and over which he had little control. Someone had put a lot of effort into this, going to great lengths to involve Matt. But who? Matt could be a little ‘out there’ sometimes and was often taken seriously when he was only messing around, but for someone to actively seek him out, to conspire and plot against him? To create a scenario that could lead to the ruin of his career, his life? Why? Had he messed with the wrong people? Who could hate him so much?   
  
“You think the police have seen this?”  
  
“Deleting it now won’t make a difference whether they’ve seen it or not.” Matt straightened in his chair, resting his elbows on the table. “It could always be recovered and besides, if I sent it, then someone got it.” He drew the laptop to him again, nearly knocking the teapot over, the beverage cooling without them touching it. “There’s probably more. Who is this bloke, anyway?”  
  
There were a couple more e-mails. Short, slightly cryptic, but clearly intended to instil some sort of fear, alluding to an undisclosed demand made previously. For what purpose, they didn’t know. Matt didn’t have anything in his inbox nor could he recall ever deleting something that could be connected, but at least one of the e-mails in his ‘sent’ folder quoted a message he had apparently received. He had obviously been hacked.   
  
They were going through all the e-mails again when Matt’s phone came to life, he and Dom immediately exchanging a look. It was an anonymous call; could be his financial manager. Could be someone else.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Good afternoon again, Mr. Bellamy.” On the other end of the line, a deep male voice spoke English with a foreign accent. Matt recognised him right away - it was one of the pair who had interrogated him at the airport, the less nasty one with the glasses. “I didn’t introduce myself before. I’m Chief Superintendent Liu of the Hong Kong Police. I was hoping this wouldn’t be necessary.”   
  
“I didn’t do anything.” He could see the drummer staring at him, trying to follow the conversation. “Someone set me up.”  
  
“Then come to the police station, show us your proof and let the courts decide.”  
  
“Ha!” Matt leaned back, releasing a hollow laugh. “Decide what? You’ve already decided everything, haven’t you? You didn’t even bother to listen to what I said! I don’t even know what I’m accused of!”  
  
There was an impatient sigh. “We know you’re a member of the Sun Yee On Triad, Mr. Bellamy. That you blackmailed and coerced Mr. Zhang into creative accounting. There’s evidence. Don’t play dumb with us, it will lead you nowhere.” The voice was colder now. “It is in your best interests to cooperate. The sooner you stop running, the easier it will be for you.”  
  
Standing up, Matt paced next to the table, hissing into the phone. “Easier for  _you_ , isn’t it? This is absolutely ridiculous; I don’t belong to any fucking triad. You’re all out of your fucking minds and I’m not going to turn myself in until you find out that this is all bollocks!”  
  
“There is evidence. How long do you think you’ll survive like this? Before you get shot or-”  
  
“I’ll stop hiding as soon as I find out what the fuck is going on!” He’d reached the hall to the toilets and he kicked the wall with his boot. He would not let himself be scared off or threatened, fucking hell.  
  
There was a rustling noise at the other end of the connection and then another voice spoke. “Matt?”   
  
Matt also recognised this voice, but the sentiment it invoked in him was very different this time. He opened and closed his mouth several times before a croaked sound came out, barely resembling a word.   
  
“Chris...?”  
  
“You must... you must do what’s best...” The voice was unnatural, the words contrived. Matt pressed his forehead against the cold wall, heart clenching as he wondered what had they threatened Chris with. Had they blackmailed him, telling him he would never see his kids again unless he participated in this charade? “They want you to turn yourself in.”  
  
Matt shook his head, as though Chris could see him. He couldn't do that, Chris knew he couldn't. “Chris...” The lump in his throat didn’t allow him to talk.  
  
“You know what to do, man.”  
  
Squeezing his eyes shut, he gritted his teeth. Yes, Chris was right. He knew exactly what to do. “I’m so sorry.”   
  
And he ended the call, tearing the phone away from his ear, striding to the table where Dom waited.   
  
How was he going to tell Dom that Chris and perhaps everyone else who’d been at the airport with them were being persecuted because of him? The blond was focused on the laptop screen, one hand around a cup of tea... and completely oblivious to the car with odd red stripes stopped outside.   
  
“Shit, shit, shit...” Matt muttered, bolting forward and shutting down the laptop before Dom’s confused grey eyes. Two men in dark navy uniforms were crossing the road. “Get up, get up now, the police are outside, they know we’re here!”   
  
One of the waitresses behind the counter craned her neck to follow the two Englishmen as they rushed to the toilets. It only took them two seconds to acknowledge that there was no way out through there. Dom cursed low, turning around and stopping for a moment before Matt grabbed his arm and guided them to the ladies’ room. A quick scan told them there was no one inside - but this time there was a small window on the back wall above the last stall.  
  
“Come on,” Matt mouthed, scampering forward, Dom locking the door behind them and following suit in the stall.  
  
Matt was already standing on the toilet seat and reaching for the window; it was rusty but opened with a shove and he climbed onto the sill. There were loud voices coming from inside the café now, Matt hurriedly peering below - two metres to the floor, he calculated. Easy enough to jump and even if it wasn’t, they had no choice. He beckoned with his head to Dom, who was waiting expectantly, and the drummer swiftly clambered up to follow him. The voices speaking Cantonese became louder and clearer, doors being kicked open nearby.  
  
They jumped down in quick succession and landed at the back of the building; Matt tripping and sprawling clumsily, right on top of the laptop, wincing when he felt his knee come in harsh contact with the ground. The adrenaline cushioned the bigger sting, though, and Dom was already helping him up, his head spinning as he searched for a way out. Creeping down a murky alleyway, they soon found themselves on the main road again, where they could see a second police car parked behind the first.  
  
“Oh fuck...” Dom breathed.   
  
They couldn't go up the road or they’d go straight past the police cars at the front of the café; if they turned back they would end up face to face with the police officers searching the building for them. Running down the street would just attract attention and make them easier to identify.  
  
“Dom! Dom, the tram!”  
  
There was a tram at a stop only a few metres ahead, Matt already sprinting past an old tourist couple consulting a map. They leaped inside just as the doors were closing, squeezing amongst the other passengers in the crowded compartment, both breathing hard and staring at each other in disbelief. Matt took his iPhone out as he looked out the window: two uniformed men were joining another two who were leaving the café through the front door, none of them making a move in the direction of the tram.  
  
“Turn off your phone. Quick!”  
  
“What?” Dom goggled.  
  
“Switch off your phone! That’s how they knew where we were!” He hissed, trying to keep his voice low.   
  
Dom complied; Matt holding on to the laptop bag and leaning his head back against the sliding door, closing his eyes. He had been so thoughtless and dumb it was embarrassing. If there was the technology for the owner of a phone to easily locate it in case of loss, then of course others would be able to utilise it to do the same.   
  
They had to cut off all means of communication, there was no other way.   
  
They were on their own.


	4. FOUR

The double-decked tram sailed along the rails across Kowloon, eventually stopping in what Matt and Dom assumed was a central station, most of the passengers leaving. Opting to stay on for a few more stops, the two musicians retreated to the back, far from prying eyes and ears.   
  
“So the police think you belong to some criminal organisation and blackmailed that Zhang guy to do... whatever,” Dom concluded as Matt recounted the conversation he’d had with the Superintendent over the phone at the café, their faces close as they talked in whispers. “Which would make the money which was transferred to your account your share of the profits or your payment.”  
  
“But stolen from whom? And why me? Why would they pick me as a scapegoat?” The idea that he could be involved in something like this was so preposterous that it was difficult for the singer to imagine how anyone could seriously believe it.   
  
“Maybe one thing is connected to the other,” Dom proffered. “It could be that Zhang guy, Matt. You sure you never heard of him before?”  
  
“No, I haven’t. They mentioned something about gambling during the interrogation at the airport, but I’ve played poker with so many people... Maybe if I see the bloke’s face it’ll ring some bells.”  
  
“Someone went to an awful lot of trouble to set you up. Could be a sore loser.”  
  
“And that doesn’t make any sense, because there’s no way someone would be that cross with me over a few thousand dollars at most,” he shrugged. There could be some animosity, how could there not be with gambling? But he’d never really had a serious row with another player. The worst one he could recall being involved in had actually been on tour with the boys. “Maybe that’s what the police think, that I’ve got myself involved in some edgy scene because of poker. Aren’t triads all about that sort of thing? Gambling and whores and whatever?” Watching through the window as they approached another stop, Matt stood up from his seat, Dom following. “Or it could have nothing to do with poker. I mean, even the Mafia could be in on it. There was a lot of red tape when I bought the house in Como, and all the permissions to build the bloody studio and how long all that took... don’t you think that was strange? I know it was a long time ago, but you never know, yeah?”  
  
Dom didn’t think that made any sense but, considering their current predicament, he wasn’t sure what to think anymore. “I think that first we need to know exactly what you've been accused of.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re right,” the other man nodded emphatically. “That could be achieved with Internet access. I reckon there might be something in the news.” The thought of witnessing his life outside Muse spread all over the news media made the front man cringe, but it was probably their best shot at gathering information. “And I need to check my e-mail account again, find out more about the guy I was supposedly e-mailing... And that triad too. If only I could remember the name they said, or how to spell it,” he sighed, stepping out of the tram as soon as the doors slid open.   
  
The tram continued on its way, leaving both men at the stop. They surveyed their surroundings, trying to decide where to go next; they had no idea where they were. It was darkening towards night fast and, checking his watch, Dom found it hard to believe it had been a mere two hours since they fled the airport. How long until they would again be confronted by the police? Hong Kong was not a very big place.  
  
“Matt, what if...” Dom bit his lip, gazing down at his feet before facing his friend. “What if Chris was serious? What if he was really advising you to turn yourself in?”  
  
“I can’t accept that. You didn’t hear him, Dom,” he shook his head stubbornly as he adjusted the shoulder strap of the laptop bag. “It wasn’t him. I’m not crazy, it wasn’t him. They threatened him and made him say that. And he knew that I would know that, he’s not stupid. I just hope...” Matt's voice softened. “I just hope they’re all okay.”   
  
  


***

  
  
  
After an hour prowling the area in search of somewhere to get online, both Englishmen constantly looking over their shoulders for any sign of pursuit, they gave up and opted for a different path. They hadn’t yet dedicated themselves to analysing Matt’s Macbook, their attention having been diverted by the e-mails when they were at the café before they were interrupted. But if the singer had been specifically asked about the laptop, surely it meant there was something incriminating to be found on there? At the very least, it could contain something relevant to the case, and it merited a more thorough examination.   
  
So they got themselves some sandwiches and a bottle of water and ended up sitting side by side on a secluded stairway in an old neighbourhood; Hong Kong was considered one of the safest places in the world, so they didn‘t expect to have any problems with potential muggers. But to their dismay, they discovered the laptop refused to switch on, and after fearing it had been broken when Matt had fallen while escaping the police, they concurred it was more likely the battery was flat and it needed to be recharged.   
  
Dropping the bag at his feet, Matt drew his knees up to his chest, picking at the small rip in his trousers from his earlier fall for awhile, then resting his elbows on them with a distant gaze. Dom was hungry, but as he looked at Matt sitting by his side, he found his bite of sandwich particularly difficult to swallow. The singer had remained relatively calm so far. By his standards, of course; he was still very fidgety, continually darting quick, nervous glances around. However, he was focused, agile mind working nonstop and not resorting to panicked hysteria, keeping them on the move. They would have been caught already if Dom was the one calling the shots. But if this wasn’t easy on the drummer, and he only on the fringe of events, he didn’t want to think how his band mate was feeling.   
  
The prospects for the evening were also dim. Night had arrived, and after realising they had no money to pay for a place to stay and considering how keen the police were to catch them, their best plan seemed to lie in killing time until the streets cleared and then finding a safe spot to hide until morning. If they made it unscathed, then they would have the following day to do some investigating of their own.  
  
Matt whispered something as he turned to face Dom, cheek resting on his knee, his soft brown hair matted to his head with the unusual humidity they had been told struck Hong Kong at this time of the year despite the season.  
  
“What did you say?” The drummer leaned forward.  
  
“Remember on New Year’s Eve when I said that 2010 couldn't be worse than 2009? I jinxed it, didn’t I?”  
  
“2009 wasn’t a bad year, Matt... The new album was huge and the gigs went down really well.”  
  
“But apart from that, everything else in my life turned into a fucking mess,” he snorted.  
  
“I know things with Gaia didn’t work out but-“  
  
“I don’t want to talk about that,” Matt cut him off bitterly. “And then you, too... Jesus, Dom, why did you have to...” and he paused, biting his lip.  
  
Dom stared down at his shoes, feeling stupid as guilt bubbled inside him at Matt’s words. Rationally, he knew he had no need to feel that way. “Thanks a lot, Matt. Next time I’ll know better than to share such an important part of my life with you.”  
  
“Don’t be a dick, you know what I mean.“  
  
“You’re the one being a dick, not me.”  
  
“You come up to me one day and tell me you’re gay, how the  _fuck_ am I supposed to react?” Matt straightened his back, looking away. “It just... it takes awhile to get used to, that’s all.”  
  
“You’ve had six months to get used to it.”  
  
It was true. But it hadn’t lessened the shock.   
  
Matt had rewound many times to that summer afternoon in Como, right before they packed up and headed for Devon to begin rehearsals, wondering if it hadn’t all been a product of his hyperactive imagination and too much alcohol. Just the two of them in the studio after Chris had left, a pool table and a few bottles of wine; chatting about everything and nothing, tongues loosened by the booze... and as they gossiped about someone they knew, Dom comes out with that one.  _I’ve been shagging guys, too._  At first Matt had thought his band mate was taking the piss, giggling hysterically and spouting yet another half-arsed gay joke at his expense. But Dom hadn’t laughed. A small smile on his lips, his eyes cast almost self-consciously to the floor, he'd worn an expression Matt couldn't  _ever_ recall seeing on him before. It dawned on him then that it had been no joke.  
  
A revelation like that could never compromise their friendship, Matt wouldn't allow it. But... things had became so complicated all of a sudden. And truthfully, he hadn’t been sure why, there was no reason for it. All he had known was that he didn’t want to deal with a Dom who saw potential lovers in other men. Including, fucking hell, including Matt himself. Too much of a mindfuck, especially when he began to look back, on everything they’d done together with girls, on things like casually walking around the bus naked. He hadn’t wanted to linger on any of that, Dom was still supposed to be the same person, after all. But Matt always over-analysed, over-thought and imagined... and for fuck’s sake, how could he be the same person when sexuality was such a significant, defining aspect of an individual? Of Dom?   
  
It was obviously no early mid-life crisis, but why couldn’t Dom have figured himself out sooner? He was in his thirties!  _Matt_ was in his thirties, he wasn’t supposed to again be questioning these things, as lines blurred and he no longer knew where to draw them. Stuff like this was supposed to have been sorted in his head ages ago.  
  
“And then you trying to gay me up as well...” Matt whispered absentmindedly, realising too late he had spoken out loud.   
  
“Excuse me?!” Dom was indignant, but he found Matt with an apologetic and, in his opinion, rightfully sheepish face. “That’s right, you’d better be fucking joking! And stop saying I’m gay. I’ve told you I still enjoy fucking women.”  
  
“You’re gay. You fuck men and you say you’d never consider a relationship with a woman again,” he insisted. “Not that I'm surprised, considering all the time you've spent horizontal with fucking slags...”  
  
“Yeah, because not being in a relationship with a woman is such a departure for me.” Dom refrained from pointing out how  _not_ shagging slags hadn't exactly worked out brilliantly for the singer.   
  
“But that actually helps my point, doesn’t it?”  
  
The blond pointed an accusatory finger at Matt, the conversation grating on his nerves. “Because  _that_ defines someone’s sexuality?! If we're going that route, how many relationships have you been in?” Matt gaped, a light flush of irritation staining his cheeks, and Dom knew he was going to argue how he'd spend more than half his life as part of a couple. “What a bigot you turned out to be, that’s all I have to say.”  
  
“What! I’m not a bigot! I just know you well and... and... ” He saw Dom rolling his eyes as he turned away, clearly trying to avoid further discussion. “Whatever.” There was a lengthy, heavy silence before he spoke again, a strange feeling of remorse nagging at him. “Sorry for acting like an insensitive prick sometimes...”  
  
“ _Sometimes_?” Dom replied sarcastically.   
  
“It messed me up a bit, that’s all. I just... I just never imagined.”  
  
Dom smirked evilly. “Didn’t stop you from wanting to see what it was like though, did it, Matt?”  
  
Matt gulped, cursing himself for bringing up the subject in the first place, fingers tearing anxiously at the wrapper of the sandwich he had eaten. “Gotta take advantage of, you know... the benefits of knowing someone who’s into blokes, yeah?” He chuckled uneasily, words beginning to stumble over each other. “Who knows, I could’ve found out I liked men, too. I don’t, so.... Erm, not that that’s because of you,” he rushed to explain. “I don’t mean that you were crap or anything. I just mean that, I meant that, ya know... ” Matt stopped himself from burying his face in his hands; why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut?! He had promised himself that everything that happened that week in Australia would be buried there. Melbourne had been the last time and they hadn’t really touched on the subject since, nor did he have any wish to.   
  
“Yes, I know what you mean. I was the lab rat for Doctor Bellamy’s experiment.” Dom shrugged. There were certain things that still stung. But what was done, was done, left in the past, and he didn’t want to go there. When he came out to Matt, he’d been prepared for the temporary strain on their relationship; he’d been prepared for the way his friend’s body would stiffen in his presence. They’d overcome all that and apologies had been accepted long ago. He would overcome this, too, he had to. “And I’m well aware I’m not crap, I don’t need you to tell me that,” he grinned, pretending he hadn’t noticed Matt’s awkward fidgeting. He had to admit he found it amusing.  
  
“So fucking full of yourself,” Matt shook his head, still fiddling with the wrapper noisily. “You should tell the others, really... You know they’d understand.” Secretly, he thought it would probably be easier for them to accept.  
  
“I’ll tell them when I’m ready. As I’ve told  _you_ many times before.” It was his decision, not Matt’s, and no amount of pressure would force him into it. “You just don’t like being the only one with the burden of knowing.”  
  
“No, I feel quite, you know, honoured, I guess, that I was the only one you told...” There was now a small heap of shredded paper on the ground at his feet. “Just won’t be much use to you if it all goes tits up and I’m locked up in a cell for fifty years.” And Matt stood brusquely, grabbing the laptop bag by the strap. “We should get moving, been here awhile now.”  
  
Dom nodded, stretching languorously before getting to his feet, grabbing Matt’s coat and handing it to him. The singer hoisted it under his arm with an annoyed sigh as Dom zipped up his leather jacket.  
  
“I need to get rid of this fucking coat.”  
  
“ _Now_ you decide to get fashion conscious?”  
  
Matt rolled his eyes at Dom’s smirk. “Ha. Ha. Ha. I’d throw it away if I knew we wouldn’t need it for money.”  
  
“Maybe you can swap it for another jacket, it’s cold.” And he shoved his own hands in his pockets. “Come on, then.”  
  
  
The streets got progressively emptier as they roamed about. It was cold and difficult not to break into a run when they spotted a vehicle at a distance that resembled a police car. Dom had suggested more than once that they try to hide in a park, but Matt was obstinate in his conviction that if the authorities sent out a patrol with dogs to search for them, the parks would be the first place they would check.  
  
Matt was turning his coat inside out so he could wear it less conspicuously, when the lights turned off in the building beside them, startling them both; it appeared to be a restaurant. Approaching carefully, they discovered a small area around the back of the building, enclosed by a fence with a narrow gate. Cardboard boxes were piled up, and there was old machinery dumped in the shadows. Dom even thought he saw a rat scurrying by. However, when he tried the gate, it was unlocked. They didn’t think twice.   
  
Sitting on the ground in a corner against the wall, shielded by boxes, they remained quiet for a long time, tense and alert to any noise that could signal danger.   
  
“You can try and sleep a bit, Dom. I’ll stay up.”   
  
“You sure?” The drummer looked aside at Matt, his band mate staring upwards at the sky, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. The blond huddled, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his knees. “Wake me up when you want to switch.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
Matt doubted he would be able to close his eyes at all.  
  
  


***

  
  
  
In the Central district of Hong Kong Island, a man in an impeccable suit stood on the balcony of his top floor suite in a luxury hotel. Night had set in, the island illuminated in the blackness, and he enjoyed the view of Victoria Harbour and the sparkling cityscape. A view of his empire. He felt powerful, in control of his own life and destiny – in control of the fate of others as well. He had always preferred working at night, the dark so appealing; he knew he was in control of all the shadowed corners.  
  
His mobile rang in the living room and he went inside, the device vibrating on the coffee table next to selected pieces of Macanese artwork and the picture of his daughter. He had been expecting this call. His English was flawless and his accent did not betray his origins, but he used Cantonese whenever possible.  
  
“Wei.”  
  
The information was far from satisfactory, but he needn’t be worried. He was confident that events would follow their course without his interference.  
  
It was only a matter of time until the two musicians were caught by the police, and he would sit back and watch things unfold, every one of his goals reached. They had no way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hong Kong Tramways only operate on Hong Kong Island, but this is fiction, so why not?


	5. FIVE

Matt was snapped out of his restless sleep by the noise of a faraway siren and flung into a state of immediate alertness. He cursed when he realised he had dozed off.   
  
A new day had begun, the sunlight hurting his eyes, but their surroundings had not changed. They were still in the same place they had settled the night before, in the yard at the back of a restaurant, hidden from view by a pile of cardboard boxes. Which was both a blessing and a curse. If on one hand it meant that they had not been caught, on the other it also meant they were still trapped in ‘Twilight Zone’ territory.   
  
The day before, Matt had acted mostly on instinct, somehow knowing that he could  _not_ allow himself to be captured. Now the implications of what he had done – of what could happen – had fully sunk in. The truth was that instead of flying back to England for a break, he had become a fugitive, fleeing the police at home and in Hong Kong after being unjustly accused of a serious crime. Not to mention the fact that exactly what he would be charged with if caught remained a mystery.  
  
Conjuring theories the whole night in an attempt to uncover the culprit responsible for his predicament had been a futile exercise; he couldn't organise his thoughts coherently, driving himself crazy with frustration with nothing to show for it. He remembered feeling quite exhausted and eventually being overtaken by slumber, his dreams plagued with images of Chinese prisons, a doomed career and no one to turn to.  
  
Sandwiched between the scratchy wall and Dom, the two friends huddled together, Matt had actually been glad when his band mate had pressed against him in his sleep, seeming to seek his body warmth in the chill of the night. The drummer slept still, his head pillowed on Matt’s shoulder.   
  
“Dom,” he said quietly, gently shaking his band mate, the blond stirring. “Wake up, mate. We have to get up.”  
  
The drummer straightened with a jolt, seemingly disoriented for a moment, before staring at Matt and rubbing his eyes. He looked around and Matt could sense the exact moment when the depressing realisation of their situation struck his friend. A shiver ran through his body when Dom moved away, and he rubbed his arms vigorously, feeling the loss of his comforting warmth.  
  
“You idiot, you let me sleep all night. Why didn’t you wake me up?”  
  
Matt shrugged, not bothering to reply, and hauled himself to his feet, wincing as the movement reminded him how numb and achy his body was from prolonged contact with the cold ground. He scanned their surroundings to get his bearings. Back out on the main street, there were people on the sidewalks talking on the phone and carrying briefcases; kids with backpacks skipping along beside their parents. It was a regular Monday morning; they looked the same in almost every part of the world. “Come on, let’s get some coffee and look for a place with Internet.”  
  
They slipped out of their hiding place quietly, not wanting to attract attention, and decided to check the café a few doors down the road. There were a few tables taken with people having breakfast, some of them reading the newspaper, but the two musicians stayed by the counter after a quick trip to the toilets. While they waited for the takeaway coffees they had ordered, contemplating asking after libraries and web cafés in the area, Dom glanced distractedly up at the TV in the corner. The wind was knocked out of him.  
  
“Fucking hell!” He tugged on his friend’s sleeve. “Matt, look.”  
  
Both their faces were plastered on the screen and they felt their blood chilling in their veins when they realised they were on the morning news. There were subtitles in Cantonese running along the bottom of the picture, a grave, unemotional male voice talking over images of them on stage and being interviewed only two days before for a local TV show, interspersed with footage of police officers at the airport.  
  
The plastic cups of coffee were placed in front of them on the counter and in a compromising exchange of looks, the server turned to the TV. Both Matt and Dom watched as the man’s suspicion became enlightenment, but they didn't wait for the consequences. They were out the door and turning at the first intersection before the man could utter a word, burning their throats and nearly spilling their coffees as they gulped them down in order to discard the cups as soon as possible.  
  
“Jesus Christ, we could be recognised anywhere!” Dom shuddered and then something else dawned on him. “That’s how they knew we were at the café yesterday, Matt! Someone must have identified us from the telly and called the police!” He was breathless. “Has nothing to do with tracing our phones!”  
  
“You don’t know that, we’re not taking any chances. And we need to disguise ourselves somehow,” Matt replied, painfully aware that they had to detour from their original plan for the morning. How much more complicated could things get?  
  
There was a great murmur of voices, the familiar sense of a large crowd not far away, and they stopped after turning a corner – they’d come to a street market. Stalls lined the way right and left, almost piling on top of each other, stands in the middle of the pedestrian only street, too, and it was unbelievably crowded. All sorts of stuff was for sale, both useful and junky, and although stopping to shop at a moment like this seemed ludicrous, without making at least a minimal effort to alter their appearances from the way they looked on the news, roaming about in broad daylight was just asking for trouble.   
  
They strolled around, checking the outside stalls, staying clear of the indoor shops where there might be a TV. Matt’s coat was too much of an attention grabber, so that was the first thing they needed to take care of; they searched for something he could swap it for, and it didn’t take long to find a simple knee-length black coat that fitted him. The stallholder, an old Chinese woman, didn't seem remotely interested in such a transaction, though. She kept shaking her head, waving her hands in refusal.  
  
“Ugly, ugly!”  
  
“You know how much this is worth?” Matt argued, nearly shoving the garment in the woman’s face. “It’s bloody Dior!”  
  
“No sell here!”   
  
“Sell it in the women’s section,” Dom drawled, quite entertained by the whole exchange. In any other circumstances, he would be cracking up at Matt’s exasperation and Morgan and Tom would be having the time of their lives. His smile faded at the memory of their friends; he hoped they were all well and that the police weren't hassling them too much. Regrettably, they had no way to contact them, it was just too dangerous.  
  
The woman had apparently considered Dom’s flippant suggestion, though, and after further bargaining with Matt (the drummer eyeing a pile of shirts with interest and thinking how he could do with something warmer to wear himself) she ended up flashing them a toothy smile, several crooked teeth showing, and closing the transaction.  
  
“Worst deal ever. I loved that coat.” Matt shook his head in disappointment, having managed only a straight swap after all the haggling. He put on the new coat and buttoned it up over the laptop bag, relieved to finally be wearing something warm again and no longer be carrying the old one. He soon perked up even more as they came across a health and beauty stall. “Is that hair dye?”  
  
Dom would have been incredulous if he hadn’t known Matt for so long. Why did he  _always_ , invariably, pick the most complicated way of doing things? “You’re not dying your hair now, Matt.”  
  
But the other man was already snagging a pack off the shelf, the shade jet black, and counting the coins in his hand. “I am, and you are, too. We blend in better with dark hair. How much money have you got?”  
  
What?! He could not be serious. “I am  _not_ going to dye my hair black!” Dom was aghast at the mere suggestion.  
  
“I know cheap blond suits you better, but this is an emergency.”  
  
“Matt, we don’t have enough money for that.” It was worth a lie.   
  
“We don’t? Hmmm...” Making sure there weren’t any cameras around and that nobody was watching, Matt slipped the dye box into the laptop bag under his coat, smirking at the blond. “Now we don’t have to worry about that.” And he pulled on Dom’s arm.  
  
Dom searched frantically around, knowing Matt would inevitably win the argument if he didn’t find another solution fast. His eyes fell on a rack of black hoodies at the next stall. Bingo. Shaking off the hand that was clutching his arm, he took off his leather jacket and grabbed one his size to try on over his low-cut white t-shirt. Matt, who was all but tapping his foot in impatience, waited with a disapproving pout, muttering bitchily, the word ‘pricey’ reaching Dom’s ears.   
  
Cheap, fitted and warm. Perfect. Dom pulled the hood over his head and walked past an unimpressed Matt to pay with his chin held high, blond hair safely covered.  
  


***

  
  
“How does it look?”  
  
Matt turned from the cracked mirror on the wall to Dom. The drummer blinked, startled from his thoughts, and studied his shirtless band mate. He had always preferred Matt with black hair. Even under the current circumstances, he was not indifferent to how it looked. It was shiny, fluffier after being washed and hastily dried under the hand dryer, and it made his extraordinary eyes stand out; made everything about him stand out.  
  
“You, uh...” He cleared his throat. “You’re right, you’re gonna blend in better with the crowd like that.”  
  
Matt seemed satisfied with his reply and put his clothes back on before reaching for the laptop bag; Dom shrugged into his leather jacket, pulled his hood over his head and put his aviators on, which had been in his pocket all along. They looked at each other, took a deep breath and headed out of the men’s public toilet they had been locked inside for the past hour.  
  
Feeling slightly safer now, they ventured towards a small tourist information stand not far away, where they gladly took a map, careful not to look the girl who worked there in the eye. More than ever, they had no wish to run into anyone who had attended the gig. Who knew what the fans were thinking or how they would react if they recognised them. They looked for cyber cafés in the map’s legend, discovering right away one in a shopping centre nearby.   
  
The administrator of the small Internet terminal was a young man who was too busy playing computer games to give them much attention and he quickly unlocked a PC for them, rushing back to his own. The only users there, they couldn’t have asked for more. They sat together hunched over in front of the screen, rubbing their hands, Matt instantly taking over the keyboard. He began with a basic Google search, not too phased by the Chinese keyboard.  
  
“Jesus, we’re all over the place.” Dom was dismayed at the headlines of the articles the search had bought up, Matt scrolling down the page.  
  
From ‘Hong Kong is not aMUSEd – Matt Bellamy suspect in crime!’ in  _The Sun_ , to ‘Muse front man sought in connection with fraud case’ on the BBC, to the  _NME’s_ ‘Matt Bellamy caught in scandal’, among many others, there was no doubt that this time they were definitely making the news for something other than their music.   
  
“Fucking hell!” Matt was floored. “They think I robbed Warners!”   
  
The accusations against Matt were stamped all over the UK and international press. The articles didn't supply detailed information, but it was apparent that Matt, together with other individuals whose names hadn’t been revealed, was accused of misdirecting funds from A&E Records through sub-label Helium-3. It had all come to light after the disappearance of the CEO of an entertainment company based in Hong Kong, which also had ties to Warners. This person was believed dead after going missing three days previously; his name was Zhang Hongbo.  
  
Warners had chosen not to release a statement and no one had been available for comment, although several theories were floating around that it had been Matt’s intention to take a hit at the record company and help finance Muse’s own independent label.  
  
They were speechless.  
  
“Their lawyers are gonna eat us alive,” Dom concluded sombrely, Matt already googling the missing Zhang Hongbo.  
  
“I’ve got nothing to do with this, I’ve got nothing to do with this,” Matt repeated like a mantra. “We need to find this guy, Dom. If he’s the one who accused me, then he’s the bastard behind all this. If he didn’t, then he can be an ally.”  
  
“But they seem to have reason to believe he’s dead. You don’t think this is someone at Warners trying to screw us over?” Dom opined, unsure. “I don’t get it, after all the problems we’ve had with labels in the past, this is the one time I couldn't see any of this coming! This pretty much equals a breach of our contract, right? How much would they be getting?”  
  
Matt tapped his fingers on the table. “This is all bollocks. All of it.” He tried to rearrange ideas in his brain as he waited for a page to load. “There is nothing here about the triads, and that was the first thing the police asked me about. This isn’t about Muse, they’re not targeting the band. They’re targeting me, it’s a personal vendetta.”  
  
“Matt, if they target you, they target the band. How much of the band is associated with your name? There’s no Muse without you.”  
  
“There’s no Muse without any of the three of us,” Matt said softly, looking aside at his band mate. “It can’t just be that. This Zhang guy who’s missing and that they think I blackmailed... I reckon I’m a suspect. I’ve got seven million quid in my account but he’s disappeared or died or whatever. I was caught in the middle of something. Me, not the band.” He paused. “They’re gits anyway, but this has nothing to do with Warners.” He scanned the information on the screen. “Shit, there you go. See what I mean? Why isn’t any of this in the news? Why wasn’t this reported?”  
  
Dom leaned forward to check what Matt was referring to: a small article from an alternative news source reported rumours that Zhang had been shot several times outside a well known hotel in Hong Kong. No body had been found, but he had been missing since the alleged shooting and it was thought likely he was dead. No suspects had been named but speculation pointed to the involvement of a triad.  
  
“There’s your triad again...” Dom rubbed his chin.  
  
“This makes no bloody sense!” Matt dropped his hands to his thighs after logging in to his e-mail account; he wanted to print the incriminating messages, the laser printer luckily right beside them. “Do they think I’m a member of a triad because maybe a triad shot that guy? And if I’d threatened him then I must be a part of it?”   
  
Dom was starting to get a headache with all the information that was being shoved at them. A CEO that was shot or went missing after receiving threats through Matt’s e-mail address, triads, money in Matt’s account that had probably been stolen from Warners...  
  
“What are you looking for now?” Dom asked, Matt typing after having quickly scanned his many unread e-mails. He was doing a search on triads in Hong Kong. “You think you’ll find anything?”  
  
“I don’t know...” Matt pointed to one of the names that had come up, arching an eyebrow. “How d’you think you say this? S-u-n Y-e-e O-n Triad.”  
  
“Sun Yee On Triad,” Dom tried to pronounce. “Is that the one they mentioned to you at the airport?”  
  
The singer nodded slowly. “Yeah, that sounds right. You know, I’ve actually seen this name before, I’ve heard about it. There was all sorts of stuff about them awhile back on some website I bookmarked,“ he paused for a moment to read a few paragraphs. “Well yeah, that’s them, alright. They’re active in England, too. I’ve read stuff that implied they made deals with Western governments, and that’s how they’ve managed to settle and survive there.” Glancing over the monitor to the administrator, who was still enthralled in his game, Matt clicked ‘print’ on the task bar. “Fucking tossers. They must’ve planned this, they’re probably the ones behind it all!” They’d certainly have the resources at their disposal for such an elaborate operation; he just didn't know  _why_ they were targeting him.  
  
Dom cringed at the amount of paper Matt was using.  
  
“Listen,” he took a hand to his rumbling stomach, “I’m gonna grab something to eat, d’you want something?” Dom looked around after Matt refused with a shake of the head, trying to spot an inexpensive fast food restaurant. “I’ll be right back then.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Be careful,” Matt waved him off without taking his eyes away from the computer.  
  
Dom stood with his hands in his pockets, shooting a last glance over his shoulder at Matt, who was slouched with his feet up on the chair Dom had just vacated, but staring at the screen like a hawk. The drummer felt weirdly uncomfortable at leaving him there alone, and for a moment he wondered if he shouldn’t just go back and wait for Matt to finish. It wasn’t wise to linger too long in one place anyway; they should probably be thinking about leaving.  
  
The food court was located on the top floor of the shopping centre, and there were massive queues as it was lunchtime. He got some Chinese for himself and also for Matt, despite his earlier refusal; he couldn't let him pass out from hunger just because he was too absorbed researching to be bothered with something as mundane as food.   
  
Eating on his way back down, Dom wondered how the hell they were going to survive without any money. They only had a few bills and coins left and that wouldn’t buy them much beyond one or two more meals. Matt had suggested earlier that if gambling wasn’t illegal in Hong Kong, he’d give it a try multiplying what they had in a few hands of poker; Dom wasn’t entirely sure he had been joking.  
  
Dom was so preoccupied with his thoughts, meal almost finished, that he didn’t immediately notice that something was wrong when he reached his destination. He entered the space and looked around; there was no sign of Matt. He frowned, his heart beating faster, and for a moment he questioned whether he’d ended up on the wrong floor. He checked the monitor that could have been the one they’d used - the page was showing something about crime syndicates in Hong Kong; he looked over to the administrator - it was the same person who had unlocked the terminal for them earlier. The packages of food he was holding fell on the table, chopsticks rolling to the floor, as Dom bolted towards the young man.   
  
“Where is my friend? You know, the guy with black hair, we were sitting over there..?”   
  
“Oh, he left a couple of minutes ago,” he casually replied as he typed.   
  
“Where, which way did he go?”  
  
“Uh...” The man finally raised his head and pointed towards an avenue of shops to their right. “There, I think. Hey, you didn't pay!”  
  
But Dom had already dashed off. Had they been seen? Had Matt managed to escape before someone got to him? What if they had already caught him? His heart raced as he imagined a million scenarios, all equally terrifying. They never should have split up, what were they thinking?

 


	6. SIX

 

Dom felt like a windmill, head whipping left and right as he strode down the shopping centre concourse checking shop windows in the dim hope Matt was in one of the stores. He knew he was fooling himself; as much as he wanted to believe Matt had finished his research and simply been distracted away as he waited for Dom, deep inside the drummer knew something must have happened, gone horribly wrong. He hadn’t even closed the last page he’d been viewing on the computer, like he’d had to leave in a hurry.   
  
Quickly reaching the end of the avenue of shops, Dom swung open the door in the wall there, gaining access to the stairs that led to the upper floors and also the underground car park. He tried to detect any sound, any sign that would give him a hint of life; but there was only disturbing stillness, and a bucket and other cleaning tools standing in the corner. Shit, what now? He ran a hand through his hair, attempting to collect his thoughts. Perhaps Matt had spotted the shopping centre’s security or the police and taken the precaution of leaving to prevent being seen? If he really had walked in the same direction and gone through the same door, then there was no way he’d have chosen to go upstairs and risk being trapped in the building. Trying to reassure himself, Dom took the stairs down to the underground car park, instinctively grabbing the aluminium-handled broom propped beside the bucket as he passed.   
  
Walking through the passageway to the car park quietly, Dom noted how the gloomy area was nearly full with vehicles. As much as he wanted to shout for his friend, he knew it was wiser to avoid revealing himself, and even felt compelled to conceal himself from view behind a car, crouching down out of sight before he scanned the area. There were several broken lamps on the ceiling and he still couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. What if Matt wasn’t there and he couldn't find him in the vicinity of the shopping centre? Deserting him was not an option. Could Dom text him as a last resort? What if... what if he had been caught by the police?   
  
Dom nearly jumped, a muffled grunt in the near distance startling him. It was the sound of something compact and solid hitting the bare concrete floor.   
  
“Get up.”  
  
The authoritative male voice came from the same place. Dom’s heart sank after a brief moment of doubt as to whether the voice had actually addressed him. He could barely believe he’d been caught. He stood up cautiously after placing the broom on the floor, cursing his luck. But as he turned around, there was no one there, let alone the armed man in uniform he was expecting. What was going on?  
  
“Get up now and do not make matters worse for yourself.”  
  
“Who’re you?”   
  
Dom dropped back into a crouch immediately, grasping the broom, his mouth very dry. The second voice was instantly recognisable. Dom hadn’t been found out –  _Matt_ had. Shit, shit, shit. He had to get closer.   
  
“Where is Howard?” The impeccable British accent confused Dom, who was slithering from car to car with his ears perked. Was this bloke English? “I asked you where your band mate is.”  
  
“You're not from the police, are you?” It was Matt again, Dom noting how his words dripped with suspicion.  
  
“Do not test my patience, Bellamy. Where is Howard?” His question was once more met with silence. “Doesn’t matter where he is, we’ll find him soon enough.”   
  
Beads of sweat formed on Dom’s forehead as he crept behind the row of parked cars, making a supreme effort not to be detected, until he finally had a clear view of the scene: Matt was standing with his hands in the air in the middle of an access lane, facing a Caucasian man in a suit pointing a gun at him. The singer’s questions suddenly made a lot more sense to him. The guy didn’t look like police, and was certainly not any of the officers they had dealt with so far. There was an exit to the street at Matt’s back; he had been trying to escape.   
  
“Put the laptop on the floor.”  
  
“Why d’you want the laptop?” Matt was speaking louder now. “Are you part of the triad? Why are you setting me up, why are you doing this to me?”  
  
At that exact moment, Dom poked his head out, crawling to hide behind a van closer to the action, and Matt’s blue eyes flickered to him. Dom pressed his back against one of the van’s wheels at the sound of shoes scuffing across the floor, and he grasped the broom tighter in his hand, ready to smack someone in the face with it if he had to. But luckily he hadn’t been spotted, as the man continued talking to Matt, his back to the blond.   
  
“The laptop, Bellamy.”  
  
Dom watched as Matt slowly removed his coat, pulling the strap over his head and bending to place the bag on the floor at his feet. It had to be now.  
  
“Very good. Now step back. Step back and- arrrggh!“  
  
The moment Matt had seen Dom, he’d realised he could not let his gaze drift to his friend again or he’d reveal his presence. Excitement and relief had to be contained at all costs. So when he was ordered to deliver the bag, he obeyed. His mysterious opponent made to grab the item off the floor, and when he heard the rustle behind him and turned around, Matt knew it was already too late for him. Dom was right behind him, brandishing the broom and swinging it around, bashing him on the shoulder with all the strength he could muster.   
  
The man grunted painfully and the gun plunged to the floor, Dom kicking him in the shin and forcing him to his knees. Snatching the weapon before the stranger could reach it, the drummer kicked him in the chin, blood gushing from his mouth as he collapsed onto his back. Dom kicked him hard in the stomach a few more times, until he was folded over groaning in pain, and only then did he drop the broom to join Matt. The singer was already in possession of the laptop again, watching the scene with wide eyes as he hastily re-buttoned his coat.   
  
“Where the fuck were you when we were getting beaten up in Teignmouth?!” He started walking backwards towards the exit.   
  
They kept the man in their line of vision until they reached the exit ramp and then spun around, running madly out of the building.  
  
The street next to the shopping centre was busier than before, sidewalks filled with pedestrians, but a quick scan revealed a park across the street. They sprinted in its direction, slowing down to a light jog when they reached the gardens, then marching side by side, trying to look as calm and inconspicuous as possible when they were still only a few minutes away from the shopping centre. Dom clutched the gun in his jacket pocket as carefully as if it were a toxic substance in a glass container and when they went by a rubbish bin, after making sure no one was watching, he dropped it inside.  
  
“You know, that might’ve come in handy in the future...”  
  
Dom faced Matt with surprise – the dark-haired man had an eerie glint in his eye. He didn’t reply and they continued walking, laptop bag firmly strapped to Matt’s body underneath his coat.  
  
  


***

  
  
The incident at the shopping centre, though alarming, had been valuable in clarifying a few things for the two musicians.   
  
Matt explained how he had noticed someone with a mobile phone headset staring intently in his direction as they lingered outside a distant shop, and how he’d had no choice but to sneak away when the person left his sight for a moment. Stuffing the print-outs into the laptop bag on his way out, he had found himself immediately pursued by not one, but two men. He had managed to elude them temporarily when he got to the car park, but then he’d been pummelled to the floor just as he was reaching the exit.   
  
“If they weren’t from the police-“  
  
“Triad members,” Matt established. “They were triad members, they’ve got to be.”  
  
The Sun Yee On triad had branches in the UK, according to what Matt had read, so that explained the man’s accent and appearance. If they were right, this meant that not only was the triad originally responsible for framing Matt, but that they were also hunting him now. They probably hadn’t been expecting Matt to flee the authorities and were trying to ensure their plan was successful. So now the musicians had to dodge both the police  _and_ the real criminals. How ironic that Matt was accused of being part of a triad – and yet, the more they mulled over it, the more likely it seemed that the organisation itself had been the one to set him up. But how were they going to prove it?  
  
Matt had also found more information on Zhang Hongbo before he had been forced to leave the computer. Zhang was a respected businessman in Hong Kong. The entertainment company he worked for had offices in other parts of the world, including London, since it had links to Warners, and he also owned more than one casino in Macau. Matt didn’t recognise him from the pictures he’d seen; the only connection between the two seemed to be the e-mails in the singer’s account. There had actually been eye witnesses to the entrepreneur’s shooting, and reports had it that he would be in a life-threatening condition, if he hadn’t died already; like Matt, he seemed to have dangerous enemies. But if the CEO survived, then he could be the key to proving Matt’s innocence. The two Englishmen fervently hoped the police would put as much effort into finding him as they were into finding Matt.  
  
The laptop was another unresolved piece of the puzzle. Whatever it contained, it seemed to be important to the authorities and also to the triad, who, judging by Matt’s recent encounter, were invested in insuring it wouldn’t be destroyed.  
  
“If that’s important enough for them to try and charge you,” Dom signalled with his chin towards the bag his friend carried, “why don’t we just smash it?”   
  
Matt was reluctant. “They’d accuse me of destroying evidence, wouldn’t they? And there must be copies. No, I want to know what’s in here.” He patted the bag. “I think that’s exactly what we should find out next.”  
  
They were walking along the shore now, the blue waters sparkling in the bright sunlight, and they decided to take a ferry to Hong Kong Island upon seeing the terminal, Matt certain they were better off closer to the English embassy than the border with China. They also had no clue as to how the triad had found them in the shopping centre, and were therefore eager to get as far away from Kowloon as possible.   
  
“I wish I could call Carla,” Matt sighed when his eyes fell on a pay phone in the Tsim Sha Tsui terminal after they’d bought their tickets. “Maybe she’s found out something more about those funds in my account.”  
  
“The money comes from Warners, Matt,” Dom replied as they settled on the pier to wait for the next departure. “And who knows how she would react now people think you’re some sort of thief... Though on second thought,” Dom snorted, “you’re gonna be a bloody hero to a lot of people!”  
  
“Yeah... not to my mum, though...” Matt mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand.  
  
“Your mum knows you didn’t do anything, you idiot.”  
  
Matt only sighed again. “Wish I knew how the other guys are doing. You think the police are giving them a lot of shit?”   
  
Dom swallowed. He’d been asking himself the same question, despite not wanting to dwell on the idea. “They’re fine. Just worried about us, I guess. They were probably asked some questions, that’s all.” The rest of the boys could have lawyers lined up to defend them and make sure they were being treated fairly in no time; Matt had enough on his plate already to be worrying about the others too, Dom decided.   
  
“Thanks for saving my arse back there,” Matt said suddenly without facing the drummer.  
  
The blond smiled. “Just return the favour next time, yeah?”  
  


***

  
  
The ferry ride across Victoria Harbour was conducted in silence, the two friends staring out at the approaching skyscrapers that seemed to sprout from the ground like mushrooms. They disembarked at Wan Chai and were instantly swallowed by the chaos of people, traffic, towering buildings and neon signs. They had been there before, more than once, most recently only a few days before, prior to the gig. There had been time for sightseeing, shopping, checking out restaurants and bars... it all seemed so distant now, petty gripes over schedules, hotel facilities and menus utterly irrelevant.   
  
They found a café where they could get something to eat and also plug in the laptop and recharge the battery, hopefully to unearth whatever the triad had planted for the police to discover. Matt hooked the power cord up, his sandwich held in his mouth, but he soon put the food down, brow furrowing as he fumbled with the Macbook, insistently pressing the ‘on’ button.  
  
“It’s dead!” He pulled on his hair, as if trying to rip the black locks from their roots. “Dead, dead, dead. Fucking dead!”  
  
They had assumed the battery was flat. They had assumed wrong.   
  
“How did this happen?” Dom opened and closed the laptop in consternation, typing at random, mimicking everything Matt had done, also with no result.  
  
“It’s my fucking fault, I fell on top of it yesterday when we jumped out of that window!” He literally banged his forehead on the table, voice coming out muffled. “Why is everything going so fucking wrong?”   
  
“Hey, hey...” Reaching across the table, Dom patted the frustrated man’s arm before squeezing his wrist gently to get his attention. When Matt raised his head, his blue eyes were shimmering, his face contorted in anguish. “We’ll fix it, okay? We’ll find a shop to fix it, just finish eating first. Don’t lose the plot now.”  
  
He held Matt’s gaze for a moment, grey and blue eyes locked as Dom grasped his thin wrist across the table, and then the singer swallowed thickly and glanced outside, nodding. He wolfed down the rest of his sandwich, regaining his composure while Dom fumbled with the computer, and then pulled out a few of the print-outs he had made to read.   
  
The drummer ended up packing the white laptop back in its bag after awhile; the thing was completely dead and it was pointless messing with it. And he couldn't share it with Matt, but the truth was that Dom was very frustrated as well.   
  
The lack of contact with  _anyone_ , not knowing what was going on with Chris, Tom and the others... it was getting to him, too. He’d do anything to speak with his mother, she was probably so worried. They had had no time and it wasn’t sensible to linger on it anyway, but when Matt had briefly checked their e-mail accounts that morning, swamped with messages that they’d quickly scanned, his sister’s e-mail had engraved itself on his memory. How she had advised them to turn themselves in to avoid aggravating the situation.   
  
Of course, his situation was a lot less dire than Matt’s... He looked over at the quiet brunet sitting opposite him, absorbed in whatever he was reading despite his constant fidgeting. He shared an interesting fact once in awhile, but nothing seemed relevant to their case. Sure, they had made some progress in figuring the situation out, but Dom wondered, not for the first time, whether they would ever be able to prove Matt’s innocence on their own, without the means to pursue a lead when they found one. Still, while Matt needed him, Dom would stay by his side. He would never abandon him. It wasn’t a matter of choice.   
  
Night wouldn’t take long to arrive, and Dom contemplated the possibility of getting a place to stay. They had to fix the laptop, and that wouldn’t come cheap, but maybe a small room wouldn’t be very expensive, and it would definitely be much safer. When he shared the thought with Matt, the singer lowered his papers and arched an eyebrow, radiating scepticism.   
  
“We don’t have any money.”  
  
“Yes, Matt, I’m aware of that.” Dom rolled his eyes, annoyed at being reminded yet again of how much of a hindrance it was. “Maybe we can offer something for trade, sell something.”  
  
He saw the smirk forming and knew what Matt was going to say before he even opened his mouth. “Finally gonna start charging then, Dom?”  
  
“I meant our wallets or something like that, you wanker,” Dom sneered. “How many pawn shops have we seen so far? They’re all over the place.” The red and green neon sign that signalled a pawn shop had caught their attention more than once; Hong Kong seemed flooded with them. “Although...” He grinned slyly. “I’ll have you know that, were we ever to sell our arses, mine would sell way better than yours would.”  
  
Matt gave him the middle finger without even raising his eyes from the chunk of text he was reading. “I’ll gladly let you have that honour.”   
  
“Only ‘cos you know you’re destined to lose.” Dom could see Matt’s eyes stop mid-sentence, narrowing. “Not even being the frontman would save you this time...”   
  
Matt’s eyes swivelled up to Dom over the papers in his hands. “Bet that's how you find blokes to get you laid, you fucking whore. Frontman isn’t available, so they settle for the drummer!” And he went back to reading, Dom sniggering with a wide grin.  
  
They left not long after; deciding to try and sell their wallets to get some cash, and it wasn’t difficult to find a pawn shop in an older neighbourhood after asking directions. The counter inside was very high and they nearly had to reach above their heads to show the pawnbroker their emptied leather wallets. The man offered them a ridiculously small sum of money, pointing at Dom’s golden watch with a greedy face.   
  
Dom clutched his wrist defensively, mouth slackening. Not the watch.  
  
“He’s not selling that,” Matt said coldly, before Dom could intervene.   
  
The pawnbroker then pointed to Matt’s silver chain, only a gleaming sliver visible at his throat, the rest concealed beneath his clothing. The black-haired man shook his head instinctively, stumped at the proposal; but then he seemed to reconsider.  
  
“Matt...“ Dom started. There were other shops where they could do business if they weren’t successful here.  
  
“Have it, then.” Matt ignored him and took the chain off almost angrily, tossing it on the counter for the avaricious man to examine. The pawnbroker studied it for a few moments and after some haggling, they finally settled on a price.  
  
When they stepped outside, Matt looked a little dazed, and he nearly tripped on the sidewalk. Dom wasn’t sure what to say and felt additional guilt that Matt had so quickly jumped in and prevented his father’s watch from being added to the pawnbroker’s considerable collection.  
  
“You shouldn’t have done that. We could’ve checked somewhere else. I know what it meant to you.”  
  
“Meant nothing,” Matt huffed. “Was just a bloody chain.”  
  
Dom decided to say no more. Maybe it was time for Matt to let go, and stop living in denial; Gaia was not coming back.


	7. SEVEN

  
Once they were more comfortable money-wise, Matt and Dom’s priority was finding a shop where they could have the laptop repaired. They soon realised it was a task that would have to be delayed until the following morning, though; all the shops they saw were closed, except for one, and the only employee there didn’t speak English. So instead, they focused on looking for somewhere cheap to stay. The night was cold and tiredness had begun to kick in, the lack of proper sleep, the tension and the stress, plus the whole day spent traipsing around Hong Kong, all adding to their exhausted state. But they had no choice but to keep going.  
  
They stopped by a web café, in the hope they could find accommodation in the area without having to roam about aimlessly, and took the opportunity to check the online news again. Matt printed a few articles to read later on, but there were no updates on their situation. They also logged in to their e-mail accounts and again, the countless unread messages, mostly from friends and family who they both desperately wanted to avoid, provided nothing useful. However, they had a huge surprise when Matt randomly checked Muse’s Twitter: Chris had left a message.  
  
 _Hey everyone, am back home. Cheers for the support, we’re trying to get out of this mess. C x_  
  
The sheer joy that assailed them soon gave way to confusion.  
  
“Chris tweeting...? At this time...?” They looked at each other, each reading the other’s mind. Their bassist rarely did it on tour, the fact that he had bothered to do it now, when it was likely there were much more important things going on, was just odd.   
  
Matt stared intently at the words on the screen and then it became clear to him.   
  
“Dom! This is a message for us, Dom!” He exclaimed excitedly, nearly bouncing in his chair as he turned to his band mate. “He wants us to know he’s reachable so we can contact him! We can’t be sloppy now because I reckon he’s under surveillance and...” Matt paused, his smile fading. What if it wasn’t Chris tweeting? What if it was only the police trying to lure them into revealing their location?  
  
“Why don't we email him?” Dom said simply.  
  
Matt was exasperated. “How dense can you be? D’you know how easy it would be to hack his account? Didn't you see what they did with mine, haven't you learnt anything? And it's not just the police who're after us! He didn't email us, what does that tell you?”  
  
“Alright, alright, I get it!” The blond raised his hands in defence, Matt almost spitting the words. “Maybe we can reply to his tweet then? He’ll be checking for it.”  
  
“What if Chris didn’t really tweet and this is only a way to get us to show our faces?”   
  
Dom couldn't allow Matt’s disillusionment to become contagious. “And what if it’s really him? Are we really gonna let a chance like this slip away?” His voice softened. “Matt, if it  _is_ him, he’ll want to know we’re okay.”   
  
“I just think that... this might be a trap.”   
  
Dom gazed at him sadly and Matt's eyes darted away as he was stung by a sharp pang of guilt. Regardless of Dom’s words on the subject earlier in the day, it was obvious to Matt that he was worried about the rest of the boys, dreading the prospect that they had been harmed; Matt didn’t have to hear him say it to know. He was concerned, too, of course; the fear always there, lurking in the back of his mind. His stomach knotted as he recalled how Dom had so selflessly turned himself into an accomplice just to help him, likely risking his own skin as well, the triad’s direct involvement in the manhunt posing a real physical threat. He didn’t want to think about any of that.  
  
“We could get a Twitter account, reply with something there...” Dom continued, leaning his elbows on the desk as he focused on the computer screen before turning to Matt. “We’ve got nothing to lose. We’re not going to tell Chris or anyone else exactly where we are.”  
  
“It's too dangerous, anyone can see it.” Matt was reluctant but his fingers were drumming rapidly on the surface of the desk. Maybe there was a way to test whether it was really Chris tweeting. And it was true that their band mate would be concerned if he  _had_ sent the message and they didn’t get back to him in some form; they’d have to find a secure way to contact him. And then it came to him. He turned to Dom, eyes wide. “Wait, what’s his kid’s account? Alfie! He's got a Twitter account! Chris doesn’t shut the fuck up about it!” It was impossible not to remember Chris’ rants about it over the past month, making the family man the target of much mockery and ridicule, even from his wife Kelly, who had travelled with them for the Big Day Out tour. It wasn’t bulletproof, but it was probably their best shot.  
  
Dom beamed. “Nice! He won’t miss it, you know he and Kel will be monitoring the kids like crazy. You remember Alfie's username?”  
  
Soon, new Twitter user  _Chessboard_pawn_  was tweeting ‘ _is Big Brother on_?’ to Chris’ son.   
  
And now they would wait.   
  
They didn’t stay much longer, only noting down of a couple of addresses where they could pay for a place to stay for the night. Dom adjusted his hood, zipping his leather jacket up to his chin when they hit the streets. His feet were killing him, he couldn‘t wait to get his shoes off and throw himself onto a bed. But they kept walking, consulting their map, and after a while they found themselves in a more rundown, shady area of town. There were bars all over, dodgy characters loitering in doorways, groups of loud, drunk Englishmen and other foreigners stumbling by. There were also plenty of Asian women in skimpy outfits, who weren’t really approaching anyone, but whose reason for being there was clear. The two musicians could feel eyes on them as they passed and Dom suddenly stopped, a smile forming on his face as an idea came to him.  
  
“You know,” he started, glancing over his shoulder at a petite girl who was leaning against the wall outside a bar, busy with her mobile. “I know  _exactly_ how we could find a place to stay that probably wouldn’t be too expensive...”  
  
“You fucking stupid?” Matt knew instantly what Dom had in mind by the sly look on his face, and he could barely believe it. “D’you know how much a hooker would ask you for?!”  
  
“Who said she’d charge me? I don’t need to fuck her – just want a room for us.” Dom grinned and looked behind himself again, bolder now. The girl was still fiddling with her phone but her eyes were on Dom, lips curved in an inviting smile. “Stay here and let me do the work. Don’t want you and your moodiness ruining it all.”   
  
Matt gave him the biggest eye roll he could muster, the drummer ignoring it with a cheeky grin, swaggering over to the girl. _The nerve_ , Matt raged. Had Dom actually told him to stay away?! He shoved his hands in his pockets, discreetly watching the scene. How could Dom manage to pretend to want to get laid at a time like this? But sure enough, the pair were already chatting amicably, the girl giggling and smiling coyly at the blond, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder.   
  
Even after all these years, Matt still couldn’t figure out how Dom did it. It’s not like he could complain about his own success rate, that would be ridiculous, but Dom was something else... Fan or not, he could have his way with pretty much any woman, they all fell for his charms. It was often a source of amusement, observing Dom seducing a woman; the crew sometimes putting bets on how many minutes it would take him to bag a bird. But it had become a source of irritation to Matt lately, after Dom had revealed his preference for men. And the singer couldn’t really understand what people found so alluring about Dom, either. First he was too chubby and baby-faced, now he was too skinny; his hideous gay clothes were a fucking joke (frankly, he should have seen it coming) and well, sure he had a lovely smile and nice teeth... But he couldn’t be more obvious about his true intentions, and Matt was sick of hearing how women appreciated being made to feel special and not just like an anonymous shag. Maybe they just weren’t as demanding with blonds? Not that he’d noticed much of a difference when he had bleached his own hair...   
  
Matt guardedly wondered whether it was the same with men. He’d never seen Dom openly flirting with another male. Not that he wanted to, of course; spying on his best mate in hopes of catching him snogging another bloke would be too fucked up for words. It was just simple, human curiosity. But when Dom interacted with other guys, Matt would sometimes try and guess if it was just friendly banter, or something more. He’d note how the drummer smiled, his stance, if he’d lean in to speak in the person’s ear or not, if his eyes would roam heatedly over the other man's body, if he’d look them in the eye with keen interest in whatever they were saying... But he simply couldn’t tell. And it wound him up. Plus, reluctant though Matt was to admit it, he was dead curious as to what sort of guy Dom fancied. He knew what Dom liked in a woman, but in a bloke? They’d never had that kind of discussion; Dom had never even hinted at wanting to initiate such a conversation and neither had Matt, not even jokingly. He couldn’t help being curious... But he was resigned to Dom’s gay shenanigans remaining out of his sight.   
  
Well… The singer squirmed, his mind travelling back in time, to that week in Australia. He actually did have a pretty good idea of how Dom behaved sexually with men... and it wasn’t just as a spectator... But that was just different, wasn’t it? They were mates. It wasn’t like there had been any seduction involved. Matt had been the one to start it, anyway, and they had been pretty upfront about it. Not that it had been a chore, far from it, but... He looked back to his band mate and his female companion, wishing they’d hurry the fuck up; his train of thought was starting to make him a tad hot and uncomfortable.   
  
Having left Matt fidgeting on the spot with a scowl on his face, Dom finally returned with the girl, an arm looped around her waist and an insufferably smug grin stamped on his face.  
  
“Hey Matt, this is Amihan, she’s from the Philippines. He’s a grumpy bastard, don’t mind him,” he joked to the girl, who giggled. She seemed very young to Matt, up close. Disturbingly young, in fact. “She says she knows somewhere we can stay.”  
  
They followed the girl through the seedy streets of Wan Chai, abandoning the rowdy bar and club area to enter an old, decaying residential neighbourhood. Some of the buildings seemed to be close to collapse: paint long gone, they were riddled with severe cracks and some had big chunks of wall missing. Matt wondered whether they were being led straight to some rat’s nest to be robbed and murdered. Or straight into the claws of the Sun Yee On. After Dom politely refused the girl’s offer of her own room (and a little more than that), she led them inside a crumbling apartment building, explaining she had a friend with a spare room.   
  
She took them up some stairs and then knocked on a door, Matt examining the dank, dusty surroundings shiftily when the door suddenly opened and a head peeked out. All they could see at first was a messy wig of blond curls framing the distrustful face of a dark skinned woman, caked in glittery make-up. But as soon as she saw them, the door swung wide to reveal a tall, muscular woman in a short, gold-sequined dress, inflated boobs nearly popping out of the plunging neckline... and a bulge in the crotch area clearly visible. Matt’s eyes flared impossibly wide, and then ‘she’ spoke, a beam on ‘her’ face.  
  
“My, oh  _my_!”  
  
She – or he, Matt couldn’t decide - was eating them up with big, slightly manic eyes, rubbing her manicured hands together in palpable excitement, long red nails sparkling. Dom’s smile dropped a little at the enthusiastic reception.  
  
“Blond?” She pointed her index finger at Dom. “Or brunet?” She winked at Matt, whose eyes were about to pop out of their sockets. “I’ll have  _both_ , thank you very much! Amihan, you are the most darling creature to  _ever_ grace this grey piece of earth! You know how to please a woman!” But then a frustrated look appeared on her face and she looked at the giggling Filipino girl, slapping her own thigh. “Damn, I’m doing two shifts at the club tonight! I’m on my way out!”  
  
“They don’t want business, only a place to stay tonight. Thought you wouldn’t mind.”  
  
The eccentric man/woman sauntered over to them, high heels clicking on the floor, and placed herself between the two Englishmen, who exchanged a look of mild apprehension. She was significantly taller than either of them and when she leaned in close to look directly into Matt’s eyes, blatantly batting her fake eyelashes, the singer couldn’t help but lean slightly away, swallowing. “Is that blue contacts you’re wearing, love?”  
  
“Me? Erm,” Matt grimaced awkwardly, a nervous laugh escaping despite himself. “No.”  
  
She grinned before turning to Dom. “ _Marvellous_ smile,” she swooned, and Dom chuckled uneasily. “Are you on holidays? Small budget? You were robbed?” At every alternative, they shook their heads, trying unsuccessfully to get a word in edgewise, until she gasped and covered her bright red lips with her hand. “Oh my God, don't tell me you've just run away from your pimp!”  
  
“Corr blimey, no!” Matt exclaimed, stepping away as his skin started to prickle uncomfortably, the inane babbling tiring him further. Who was this crazy person? He couldn't even decide where to look, his eyes switching from the wig to the obviously fake tits to the dangerously short spandex dress. “We just need a room for the night, that’s all! If you don’t have one, we’ll piss off and look somewhere else.”  
  
If she was taken aback by Matt’s outburst, she didn’t show it, only throwing him what she considered to be her sultriest smile. “ _Of course_ I have a room for you, love, was just poking a bit of fun, don’t be so uptight. Although...” She gave him another head to toe glance, biting her lip, and just as Matt was about to turn and leave, she laced her arms through his and Dom’s and started pulling them inside with a suggestive grin. “Nevermind that, for now. Anyway, my flatmate works on the streets and she got herself a fabulous deal with a French boy, so she’ll only be back next week. Or maybe never, have you seen ‘ _Pretty Woman_ ’? Oh, what nonsense – who hasn’t!” Matt and Dom exchanged yet another careful look, both dragging their feet when ‘she’ looked over her shoulder to wave goodbye to the Filipino girl. “My name is Michelle and I’ll be your hostess tonight!”  
  


***

  
  
Michelle showed them the spare room in the modest flat, explained the double bed was made but told them where to get extra blankets if needed and gave them full permission to use the shower, and the kitchen as well if they wanted to cook. She made a point of telling them how everything was clean and tidy and that clients were not bought there, since the house had two rooms, enough for it to be considered a brothel. Brothels were illegal and, as they had no wish to get in trouble with the police, they worked at the so-called ‘one-woman brothels’, located in another building nearby.   
  
The place wasn’t spacious and there was absolutely nothing worth stealing, unless the burglars were heavily into make-up, creams and other beauty products, which in part helped to explain why they were welcomed with literally open arms. Rambling non-stop about her life, Michelle spoke of her plans for the future, shared numerous frivolous tidbits about fashion and ranted about prejudice and injustice in the world. She refused to discuss a price for their stay, but after the two musicians insisted, still uncertain, she ended up whispering in Dom's ear that they seemed so nice and were both so pretty that if they behaved and didn’t damage anything she might let them stay for free.  
  
Ready to leave for work when they had arrived, Michelle merely grabbed a sparkly purse after the tour was over and blew them a kiss, winked at Matt who been mostly mute, and banged the door shut. They stood awkwardly in the hall, speechless after the past fifteen minutes, before eventually heading to their assigned room, Dom closing the door and locking it for good measure when he noticed the key.  
  
“Fucking skank. So not taking my clothes off! Bet he’s got a camera hooked up somewhere to try and to catch us naked,” Matt ranted as he took his coat off, throwing in onto the bed.  
  
“It’s a  _she_ , didn’t you hear the part where she said she’s saving money for the rest of the surgery? May have been after she told us that she’ll be singing in Vegas next year and making a fortune,” he smiled. “Mental, but hilarious. How lucky were we? Don’t be such an ungrateful, paranoid little shit.”  
  
“It's not like I've no reason to be paranoid these days, is it?”  
  
Matt had sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to Dom as he faced the window, his coat and the laptop bag at his side. He seemed so small and fragile, the bluish moonlight casting a ghostly shadow over him. Swallowing, the drummer removed his own jacket quietly and sat beside him. He rested a hand on Matt's shoulder, squeezing lightly.  
  
“Alright?”  
  
Matt only sighed in reply, his eyes closed, his shoulders limp. It wasn't the brightest of questions, Dom acknowledged. Matt looked ragged with exhaustion, a shadow of himself. As if the burden of the past day and a half, too weighty for his slim frame, had finally overwhelmed him.  
  
“You need to sleep,” the drummer spoke gently. “You’ve barely closed your eyes in the last 48 hours. It's making you all depressed and pessimistic. Come on.” He placed an arm around Matt's shoulders and pulled him close, jostling him softly against his own body, trying to inject some optimism into the dejected frame. Matt didn’t respond, but he didn’t push him away or insult him either, just sinking into Dom’s embrace, letting his head drop to rest on his shoulder.  
  
Dom was stunned. He couldn't think of anything to say to him, so they just stayed like that, Matt’s face resting against his neck, his own arm around Matt, rubbing the singer’s shoulder soothingly, until he thought it best to follow his own advice. He made Matt lie on the bed on his side and then climbed up to position himself behind the guitarist, sliding an arm around his waist unabashedly. At the moment, he just didn’t care. His nose was so close to the back of Matt’s head, breathing in next to his hair, that he imagined he could get high just from the scent of the dye. He couldn't help himself. Snuggling closer, he let his lips make contact with the smooth white skin of Matt’s neck. He felt the small figure tense immediately, but there was no attempt at pulling out of his embrace.  
  
“Dom...”  
  
The warning tone drew a sad smile in the dark from the blond. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m not trying anything.” He paused. “But it wasn’t that bad, was it? You and I? You liked it. In Melbourne, too.”  
  
“Did  _you_ like it?”  
  
For someone so perceptive, Matt could be incredibly thick sometimes. “What do you think?”  
  
“I’ve no idea, you never told me.”  
  
“You said you didn’t want to do it again.” Or talk about it. That week in Australia had been... intense. Unexpected and intense. From the bizarreness of Matt asking him straight out if they could have sex so he could see what it was like to be with another man; to the surprising bitterness of Matt ending that last, mind-blowing night in Melbourne by saying he didn’t want to do it again. “But yeah, of course I did. Thought it was pretty obvious. I liked it a lot. You were... it was good with you. You were great. You’re flexible.”  
  
Matt actually giggled, his body shaking against Dom’s chest. He'd missed that sound, it had been too long since he’d heard Matt laugh like that.  
  
“Admit it, I was the best you’ve ever had, wasn’t I?”  
  
Matt’s tone was serene but light-hearted, slightly provocative even, and Dom slapped him playfully on the forehead with an annoyed groan.   
  
But the question struck a chord with him. It wasn’t the first time he'd thought about it. And he'd definitely known the answer for some time.


	8. EIGHT

  
Dom jolted awake at the sound of a loud snore, one lazy eye opening to inspect his surroundings despite his body and brain not being fully functional yet. Still in the same bed as the previous night; still living the same nightmare. It slowly dawned on him that it was his own snoring that he had heard and the drummer grimaced in aversion when he further noted the wet patch on the pillow, his mouth dry and ashy. If only he had his treasured electric toothbrush... When he rolled over and threw back the cover, which was in fact Matt’s coat, his eyes landed on his band mate, who was sitting crossed-legged on the floor in socked feet, back against the wall below the window. His diminutive frame was surrounded by a litter of paper, head dipped forward as he read attentively.   
  
“Jesus, Matt,” he yawned, checking his watch. It wasn’t even eight in the morning. “How long have you been up?”  
  
No answer was offered and just as Dom’s head was about to fall back to the pillow, the drummer nearly dozing off again, Matt dropped the papers on his lap and finally lifted his head to stare in his direction. His face was gaunt in the shadows, all sharp cheekbones and bags under his blue eyes, framed by mussed bedhead hair, and Dom barely comprehended Matt’s words when he spoke, the drummer only hearing the deeper tone his band mate’s voice always took in the mornings.   
  
“I wonder why those two bastards yesterday wanted the laptop.”  
  
Dom rubbed his eyes, trying to collect his thoughts and understand exactly what Matt was talking about. “The guys from yesterday at the shopping centre? Right… We’ve talked about this,” he finally said. “If they’re triad members, then they want to make sure you get caught, together with whatever evidence there is in the laptop.”  
  
“But if that ‘evidence’ was fabricated by them and if they’re good enough to hack my laptop, and if the police are already after me... why bother?”  
  
It was slightly too early for Matt‘s farfetched theories. “Christ, Matt, I don’t know. Maybe they just wanted to hand it over to the police intact. Why are you dwelling on it?”  
  
Matt appeared lost in his own world as he scratched his nose, but his voice was firm when he continued his train of thought. “No. There’s something about this piece of crap,” he thrust his chin at the dead Macbook by his side. “I don’t know what it is, but wasn’t the guy giving off the vibe that the laptop was more important than me? I don’t know, what if... what if they haven’t finished the job yet, Dom?”  
  
“Come on, Matt, you’re just speculating. There wasn’t time for anything more, you had a gun in your face… He was only trying to make sure you didn‘t destroy it.”   
  
Matt shook his head stubbornly. “We’re going to a shop to fix it and make a copy of everything on it before someone modifies the contents or deletes it. No matter what happens, it always leads back to this bloody thing. I want to know what’s so important about it.”  
  
This was something Dom could agree with, at least. Changing the subject, he pointed at the print-outs spread on the floor. “Did you find anything else out about Zhang?”   
  
“Just that the police are looking for him in Macau, too, where he runs the casinos. Says right here in one of the articles, missed it yesterday. But that’s it.” Matt disentangled his crossed legs gracefully, his black v-neck jumper and the t-shirt underneath riding up as he folded his body over and stretched out his cramped muscles. “Wonder if he was used to frame me and then they decided to get rid of him so he couldn’t talk,” he continued, leaning his head back against the wall tiredly and swallowing. It was difficult to theorise about the fate of a stranger when he had no idea why he, himself, had been dragged into this madness. But Matt’s general mistrust of powerful businessmen automatically prevented him from seeing Zhang as an innocent victim like he was. “Still think the laptop is our best shot for now.”  
  
Dom simply nodded. He was trying hard to keep at bay the possibility that Zhang had been murdered and Matt would end up being connected to that as well; the mere idea made his head throb and his stomach turn unpleasantly. Hopefully Chris would be able to relieve a few of their fears and also shed light on some of the mystery-shrouded incidents that had befallen them. The drummer was optimistic that their friend would have understood the message they had left on his son’s Twitter and that it could translate into a safe means of communication between them.  
  
“Don’t you find it weird that…” Matt pondered vaguely, gazing up at the ceiling. “That Zhang’s allegedly been shot but there’s no body, and there’s no record of him at any hospital-”   
  
A rattling noise from another part of the flat interrupted Matt and they realised it was probably the front door opening as Michelle returned from work. Matt quickly gathered all the papers off the floor, stuffing them back into the laptop bag while Dom jumped off the bed and headed out to greet their hostess.   
  
“Oh, darling!” Michelle wailed happily when Dom emerged. “What a gorgeous sight after a hard night’s work!” Barefoot and dressed in a pair of tight sweat pants and a tank top, she, oddly, seemed to be covered in glitter. “Where’s Matthew? Oh, there you are, love!” She strode over to where the other man hovered in the doorway with a thrilled expression, the singer powerless to stop her from locking her arms around him and squeezing him in a hug so tight it nearly crushed his bones.  
  
Dom sniggered at his band mate’s wide, panicked eyes. Despite the high-pitched voice and prominent bosom, there was no doubt Michelle possessed the strength of a tall, muscular man.   
  
“Thank you so much for letting us stay, Michelle, we can...” Dom trailed off, amused at the way she kept fussing over a skittish Matt, pinching his cheeks and boldly running her hands through his hair, leaving traces of glitter in the black locks.  
  
“Don’t get me wrong, love, you’ve got such a pretty face but you look  _terrible_! Didn’t you sleep well? Did you have a fight?” She glanced back at Dom. “Or was it the bed? Maybe not comfortable enough? You can take a nap on mine if you want to.” Dom tried his best not to burst into laughter when she wriggled her eyebrows suggestively, Matt opening his mouth but no sound emerging, completely flabbergasted once again. “Oh, I know! I know exactly what you need!” She twirled around and stepped into the bathroom, Matt and Dom looking over at each other as she rambled to herself. “All in order!” She returned to the hall, clapping her hands. “Shower! Both of you, off to the bathroom! You can use all the supplies you want and you’ll find towels on the shelf.”   
  
Matt scratched the back of his neck, indecisive. It wasn’t such a bad idea, he had to admit. “Yeah, well...”  
  
“I wouldn’t mind that,” Dom nodded. “We were about to leave and we’d like to thank you because it was lovely of you to let us stay but if you don’t mind...?”  
  
“Mind?! I insist! What’s on the outside  _must_ reflect what’s on the inside!” Reaching for Dom’s hair, she twirled a strand in her finger with a smirk. “You’re not leaving without a shower and breakfast, darling. You can go at the same time, too, if you want. Don't be all coy because of me. We all have needs, isn’t that right?”  
  
“No, thanks,” Dom chuckled as Matt made towards the bathroom as fast as his legs would carry him, trying to escape the ridiculous conversation. He came to a halt at the door, though: he hadn’t noticed the night before, but the absurd amount of beauty products in there put Dom’s faff bag to shame.  
  
“Don’t tell me you two don’t shower together.” The perky owner of the flat seemed stunned. “Are you serious?!”  
  
The drummer’s brow furrowed in bemusement. “What, err, what makes you think we’d even want to?”   
  
“Isn’t it obvious?”   
  
Both Englishmen gaped at her in utter bafflement. It wasn’t obvious to them. At all. But they glanced at each other; and then at her again, and realisation hit them. Dom started laughing, glancing sideways at the bathroom’s doorway, where Matt was shaking his head and flailing his hands about as he tried to refute her assumption.   
  
“Oh? You mean you’re not together?” Hands on her hips, Michelle cocked her head to the side. “But you didn’t say anything about sharing the bed.”  
  
“I’m not gay!” Matt blurted, a pink flush creeping up his neck to his ears as he shot a stern glare at a giggling Dom.   
  
“Pfft! Oh, please.” Their tall hostess walked to the kitchen, waving a hand nonchalantly back at them. “Suit yourselves, but you don’t fool me! Anyone with adequate eyesight can tell by your body language that you two get it on with each other!”   
  
  


***

  
  
True to her word, Michelle didn’t let them depart before breakfast, which turned out to be their first decent meal in days, and she angrily refused when they tried to pay her. Fake body parts and eccentricity aside, Michelle struck them as very genuine and entertaining to be around, even Matt acknowledging it once he finally loosened up, going so far as to allow her a whiff of his hair after he’d showered with a small smile. They felt bad for not being honest about their reasons for being in Hong Kong, saying only that they’d been travelling across Southeast Asia, and they could tell she sensed something strange was going on, but she didn’t press for details. Clearly she was used to living among people with secrets, having arrived illegally from Singapore herself a few years ago.   
  
Tempting the two musicians to return that night, Michelle claimed the room was available and when they finally said goodbye, all three knew there was a fair chance they’d meet again.  
  
In good spirits and more positive and hopeful having been left clean and well fed by their fascinating hostess, Matt and Dom left to peruse the area where they’d seen several electronics shops the previous day, first stopping at a first cyber café to check if there was news from Chris.  
  
The Muse Twitter page had nothing new, as predicted... but Alfie’s had. Simply tweeting  _‘BB sucks’_ , there hadn’t been any direct reply to  _Chessboard_pawn_ , but Matt signed in to the account with shaking fingers and immediately noticed they had a follower,  _Mo_man_. Their hearts beat faster as they read the only tweet on their feed, sent a few hours previously.  
  
 _Follow me_  
  
“It’s gotta be him, Dom, it’s gotta be him!” Matt clutched Dom’s wrist in excitement, before doing what had been requested. “What now? Should we wait? Should we tweet? Or since he’s following us, I could send him one of those private messages.”  
  
Dom was still grinning. “Let him make the first move, maybe he’s got something in mind.” Matt, however, was already clicking away and sending a new tweet before Dom had even finished speaking. “What’re you doing?”   
  
“Locking our entries and telling him to do the same. In theory, no one will be able to see what we say, except the three of us.” He turned to Dom with a winning smile. “Now let’s go fix the laptop. We’ll check back later for replies.”  
  


***

  
  
Wan Chai Computer Centre, located above the central station, was exactly what they needed.   
  
When asking at the cyber café for computer repair shops, they had promptly been directed to the windowless complex, a shopping centre with two storeys specialising in electronic goods. Most of the shops they consulted informed them that they’d have to leave the computer for analysis and come back later, though, which was the very thing they wished to avoid. The cost of the repair wasn’t very appealing either, considering their tight budget. But they eventually ended up in a smaller store, where the technician actually agreed to have a proper look at the item there and then.  
  
“Is easy to fix. Can have ready for you tomorrow.”  
  
The young man explained in halting English that it was something to do with the power distribution circuit and that it was unlikely the hard drive had been damaged, which was an immense relief for both men. Matt drummed his fingers on the counter as he looked the guy over, figuring he was only an employee of the shop, not the manager.   
  
“We need this today, it’s sort of an emergency... If you can fix it, we pay you.” The youth stared blankly at Matt. “We hire you. We don’t have much money but we’ll pay what’s necessary.”  
  
At first he refused, but with persistence and, mainly, some Hong Kong Dollars in advance, he invited them to his own home after work, and they agreed to meet at the shop at 4:30pm.  
  
Pleased with what they had managed so far, the next step was to check Twitter again in the hope Chris had already replied to their tweet. They pretended to want to try out one of the computer models for sale at a shop and, after making sure it was connected to the Internet, surreptitiously logged in to Twitter.   
  
“Fucking hell!” They both spluttered when they saw the tweet at the top of their page.   
  
 _Chat for 10 minutes at 1pm my time? what number do i call?_  
  
Matt read the message again and again, also noting how it was locked for non-followers, adrenaline rushing through his veins. “We need a prepaid phone card.” He glanced over his shoulder, making sure there was no one surveying their activities. “We tweet the number to Chris and then we just need a mobile phone to put it in.”  
  
“Never again in my life will I take the piss out of Chris’ skills with a computer again,” Dom shook his head with a grin. “We can borrow Michelle’s phone,” he suggested, remembering the Nokia device sat on the table at breakfast. “Unless it’s locked... but I have a feeling she’ll know someone who can help if that’s the case. What’s the time difference with England again?”  
  
“Eight hours? Nine?” The singer googled it. “It’s seven hours, so it’ll be 8pm here.”  
  
They still had a good few hours until then but they hurried to buy a prepaid phone card, returning to the same shop with the excuse they wanted to try a different model so they could tweet the number to  _Mo_man_. It was with a spring in their step that they finally left Wan Chai Computer Centre.   
  
They ambled around to kill time, getting some traditional dim sum from a street vendor before ending up in a park, avoiding a large group practicing Tai Chi to sit on a bench with a tranquil view of the harbour.   
  
Matt’s anxiety levels were sky high at the prospect of fixing the laptop and hearing Chris’ voice again and although he wanted to go back to reading the print-outs in the bag, it was too hard to focus. Soon he was absentmindedly tearing the paper into small pieces as he stared into space. It was clear to him now that it had been the Sun Yee On behind this whole ordeal, despite there being no solid evidence that could be used as proof. A criminal organisation that operated in both the UK and Asia, whose activities involved gambling and deals in the entertainment industry... there were too many connections to Matt and also to Zhang. Who were these people? This shadowy crime syndicate that could use and subsequently discard someone so easily? Who could kill and had managed to make an important businessman simply disappear? And how was Matt, a lone individual, meant to fight them? They knew the territory, had connections, their complex plan had the police in two countries after him...  
  
Zhang’s fate appeared to be even worse than his, regardless of the role he had played. If only he knew if this person was still alive and if he was, where to find him; he could be crucial in proving Matt’s innocence. But where to start looking if they decided to try? By all accounts, Zhang seemed to have vanished into thin air. But it could very well be their only shot, if whatever information - or lack thereof - in the laptop turned out to be worthless in aiding his defence.  
  
Matt wished Chris was with him as well as Dom. Not that he wished the bassist was in their precarious position, far from it, but he missed his reassuring presence. The three of them working together, that was the way it had always been. Matt had lost count of the number of times a well-groomed industry exec had slimed up to him with tempting promises and the lure of multi-million dollar contracts. Yet none of it had ever appealed to him... To begin with, he didn’t trust anyone in the industry, they were all fickle, blood-sucking vermin. No one understood how safe he felt with Chris and Dom by his side, how sure he was that he’d lose himself entirely were he ever to embark on a solo career. He couldn’t have been more honest when he wrote it – together, they were invincible. Matt was happy as he was, as part of a band. Or had been. Stuck in an alternate reality now, where being on stage playing for the fans was a distant dream, he couldn’t contemplate the idea that it might never happen again. That a festival in Hong Kong had been his last ever performance.  
  
At Matt’s side, Dom was yawning, soaking up the sun with his aviators on. The singer tore up yet another piece of paper. He couldn’t fathom what would have become of him in the turmoil of the past couple of days without Dom’s fierce support to cling to. He’d been his anchor. But at the same time, Matt felt such a selfish prick for using it... It had been hammering away in his mind through the night, nagging at him as he slept, eventually thrusting him from sleep as the first rays of sunshine invaded the room in Michelle’s flat.   
  
Dom could be comfortable at home on a well-deserved break, or at least out of this mess; instead, he was likely now perceived as Matt’s accomplice by the police. The drummer hadn’t known what he was getting himself into when he hopped in that taxi at the airport with Matt. What if Matt had made a terrible mistake by letting his band mate join him in this insane crusade for the truth? Maybe Dom wouldn’t have it any other way; if the situation were reversed, Matt knew he’d do the same for his friend. But the guilt had been eating away at him for awhile and as the gravity of the situation increased, it only troubled him more. He could not cope with the notion of Dom being harmed because of him.   
  
Maybe... maybe it wasn’t too late for Dom.  
  
“As far as we know, there aren’t any charges against you, Dom,” he started quietly, the drummer turning to him at the words. “If... if we can’t find any proof...”  
  
“We will, sooner or later we will.”   
  
“If we can’t find any proof,” Matt repeated, ignoring the way Dom’s brow was wrinkling as he no doubt predicted exactly where this was leading, “you have to turn yourself in and tell them that... I don’t know, that you thought I was innocent at first but then-“  
  
“Matt, stop it.”  
  
“Jesus, Dom, I don’t wanna ruin your life.”  
  
“You idiot.” He removed his sunglasses, eyeing Matt sternly. “After all these years, after all we’ve been through together, you think it’s as simple as leaving you by yourself and going home?” Dom was almost angry. “You think my life goes on normally without knowing where you are, if you’re okay or if you’re bleeding in the gutter with a bullet in your head?”  
  
Matt swallowed, staring at the distant harbour stoically. “If everything goes tits up, you’ve got a chance to start over, that’s all.”  
  
“Start  _what_ over? If we can’t find anything here in Hong Kong, what we’ll do is get you to the embassy, get the best lawyers we can find on it and make them work until we can prove that you’re nothing but a pawn in someone’s sick game.” That much Dom had already decided. “We’ll do whatever it takes. There has to be something out there, some evidence that you were framed. If we can’t find it ourselves, someone else will. But I’m staying with you till this is over and I’m not gonna let you lose hope.”  
  
“I’m not losing hope, that’s not it. It’s just... just that...” Matt dropped his head forward, running his fingers through his hair, all coherency and logic lost in the face of Dom’s resoluteness.   
  
Dom reached out a hand and rubbed his back comfortingly, leaning his chin on his shoulder to speak in his ear, trying to keep his voice steady. “We’re going to get you out of this. We’ve got a load of fucking stadiums to rock over the summer, remember that. Hundreds of thousands of people waiting to have their minds blown and worship the ground you walk on. I wouldn’t let you miss that for the world.”   
  
Watching Matt nod clumsily, face buried in his hands, didn’t exactly instil Dom with reassurance. His best friend looked to be on the verge of a breakdown again, and although Dom understood that ups and downs were to be expected, at the same time he couldn’t help fearing Matt would ultimately crumble under all the pressure. Most of all, he feared Matt would do something incredibly stupid if given half a chance. He could not let his guard down.   
  
As he raised his head to look beyond Matt’s hunched figure, Dom’s attention was caught by something odd. There was someone in a tracksuit talking on a mobile a few dozen metres away who turned around as soon as Dom looked up; as if they had been staring and didn’t want to be spotted. Leaning casually back on the bench and resting his open arms along its back, Dom averted his eyes in the other direction. When he discreetly looked back, the man was gone. He leaned forward again to peer around Matt, maybe he could catch the guy walking along the pathway or near the trees; he saw no one. His heart skipped a beat.  
  
“Matt, how about we get going?”  
  
“Huh?” Looking up wretchedly, nose red and eyes glazed, as if he had been shaken from a deep bout of melancholy, Matt’s gaze moved beyond the drummer. “Shit, the police!”  
  
“What?” Dom whipped his head around to find two police officers walking in their direction. “Fuck, I saw someone on the phone just now and then they just vanished... shit.”  
  
They shot up from and around the bench, Matt grabbing his coat and the laptop bag in a bundle, and marched away with large steps across the lawn towards a small hill, where they hid behind some bushes. Crouching low, Dom shoved his aviators in his jacket pocket while Matt hastily pulled on his coat, their eyes trained on the approaching police. The two men in uniform walked by the empty bench serenely, without sparing it a second glance; both musicians breathed out. However, after the police disappeared from sight, the guy on the phone Dom had seen earlier returned. He stopped near the bench, looking down at it. And then he raised his head, staring exactly where both Englishmen hid.  
  
“Run.”  
  
Matt didn’t need to be told twice. They took off in a blind sprint up the hill between the trees, a quick glance over their shoulders telling them they were already being pursued.   
  
“Dom, I know him,” Matt puffed. “He’s the second guy from the shopping centre yesterday!”   
  
This information only propelled Dom to move his legs faster, as he tried to discern what the shade he could see at the top of the hill was. It was a fence. A fence and a hedge, waist-high, bordering the edge of the public gardens. They slowed down as they got nearer, heads turning left and right to check for an exit, but decided with an exchange of looks to just jump over.   
  
Dom hopped over easily but Matt was carrying the laptop bag in his arms and the strap got caught on the fence, ripping it from his hands. Losing his balance, he stumbled to his knees when he reached the other side of the hedge.   
  
“No!”   
  
Scrambling to his feet, Matt turned back to recover the lost bag, eyes colliding with those of their pursuer, the gap between them closing dangerously fast.   
  
A few meters ahead, Dom was bouncing with impatience. “Leave it! Leave it, Matt, come on!”  
  
Matt closed his fingers around the strap and pulled, but the moment he turned to join Dom, he was tackled by a mighty force, the side of his head hitting the fence, and the singer was on the ground, flat on his stomach in a matter of seconds. He tried to throw his opponent off but the man had straddled him, a hand with an iron grip on the back of his neck, and he felt the strap slipping through his fingers as the man took the laptop bag from him.  
  
“God damn you, Bellamy! Stay the fuck still, I’m getting sick of you!”  
  
Then there was a grunt of pain above Matt and he was no longer being squashed into the dirt; instead, he was being hauled roughly to his feet. It was Dom and the blond wasn’t wasting any more time with the man in the tracksuit, who had rolled away clutching the bag to his stomach, only dragging Matt with him as he fled.   
  
Matt’s mind was racing, faster than his legs, as he ran down the hill with Dom gripping his arm tightly, as if worried he’d suddenly dash off.  
  
“Dom, no,” he panted, slowing down after yet another glance backwards. There was no one after them now, the man apparently no longer interested now he had the laptop. “Dom, we need to... we have to go back.”  
  
The drummer glared at him as though he’d lost the plot completely, slowing his step but still steering his band mate by the arm. There was a wide, busy street below; they would blend in easily with the crowd once they got there.   
  
Matt didn’t say anything more, rubbing at his face and pulling his hand away to find blood on his fingers. He didn’t feel a thing.


	9. NINE

Dom paced the public bathroom, back and forth, running his fingers through his hair. Brought to a standstill when he reached one of the walls for the thousandth time, he glanced sideways at Matt, who was washing his face and cleaning the wound on his cheek.  
  
The smaller man stared at his reflection in the mirror above the basin. The thin red line on his face caused by the attack at the park was no longer bleeding; his light grey trousers had another rip in the knee. None of it mattered. They had lost their one potential lead when the laptop was taken, its relevance skyrocketing now he understood how much the aggressors had desired it. They obviously cared little about Matt; it was the laptop the man in the tracksuit and his companion the previous day at the shopping centre had coveted.  
  
Why hadn’t Matt been more persistent in his efforts to unearth whatever information was stored there? In trying to find a way to fix the Macbook once they discovered it was broken? They should have done everything, absolutely everything in their power. So many opportunities had been lost, so much time. And now it was too late.  
  
“Let me see that.”  
  
Dom’s hands were on Matt’s hunched shoulders, manoeuvring him around slowly so he could examine the gash, before looking him in the eyes. Matt didn’t return the gaze; he wanted to be angry, he should be pissed off at Dom and smack him for not letting him go back to recover the computer. But he couldn’t. Instead, there was something gripping tightly inside his chest, a choking sensation obstructing his throat.  
  
The idea shaping in his mind wasn’t very sharp yet, the edges foggy; but it was there.  
  
“What did you expect me to do, let you get caught?”  
  
Matt simply turned away at the question, Dom’s hands dropping from the singer’s shoulders to his own hips. The grey eyes didn’t leave him, though.  
  
“We need to go to Michelle’s and see if we can use her phone.” Unemotional and detached, that was the way his own voice sounded to his ears. As he headed for the exit, Matt felt strangely light without the weight of the bag he had become accustomed to carrying.  
  
Pursing his lips, Dom only pulled his black hood over his head before following. He was going to get the silent treatment, he knew it. Matt was resentful at not being allowed to go back to try and retrieve the damn bag. But he was unable to feel any guilt over it and he was positive he wouldn’t change a thing if they were to go back in time and do it all over again. Those people were dangerous. They had guns, they would use any means necessary to achieve their goals. They probably would not hesitate to dispose of Matt if given the chance and the fact that they were satisfied with the laptop was good enough for Dom. So no, he didn’t regret his actions at all, whether Matt understood them or not. If they were going to be captured, then let it be by the police.  
  
It was painfully true that they were back to zero now, though; the loss had been a devastating blow. Miserably empty-handed as they made their way to Michelle’s flat, even the prospect of speaking to Chris, which they had both been madly craving, had lost its thrill, the mood irrevocably dampened. By the time they reached the block where the cheerful transsexual lived and climbed the stairs, the two friends had yet to exchange a word.  
  
“Oh, I  _knew_ you’d be back!” Michelle clapped her hands excitedly when she found them at her door again. Sporting another blond wig that reached her shoulders, this one had no curls, but was straight with a blunt fringe. Fake eyelashes were nowhere to be seen (yet), but her long nails were painted blue this time around.  
  
She stepped aside to let them in, Matt’s face breaking into a cheeky grin. Dom was taken aback, but forced a smile as well nonetheless.  
  
“Okay, what’s going on, what’s with all this tension? Oh, my god, what’s that on your face, Matthew?!”  
  
Cotton wool, antiseptic, sticking plasters... Michelle babbled, her face awfully close to Matt's as she carefully examined the scratch that marred his skin, but the dark haired man laughed it off. Disentangling himself from her attentions, he advanced towards the room he and Dom had occupied the night before after asking for Michelle's consent.  
  
“Hmmm, your boyfriend seems very ticked about something.” Michelle narrowed one eye suspiciously at Dom. “Is he mad at you?”  
  
“He’s not my sodding boyfriend!” Matt cut in, voice carrying from the bedroom. “And I wouldn’t date him if he was the last living being on Earth!”  
  
“Fucking twat,” Dom muttered lowly, clenching his fists. Breathe in, breathe out. If this was Matt’s way of dealing with his disappointment, taking it out on him, then he supposed he could handle it. Not like he’d never done it before.  
  
“Oh, I love it, what a diva!” Michelle was giggling but then she suddenly stopped, wide eyes glistening. “You think he’d ever consider acting? I see unlimited potential for that man on a stage!” A hand flew to her mouth. “Vegas! Dominic, we could go together to Vegas! Tell me, have you ever been to  _Vegas_?!”  
  
Dom had to smile. However, they had an important task on their hands. “Actually, we were wondering if we could ask you a favour...”  
  


***

  
  
Chatting continuously as she got ready for work, Michelle regaled them with stories from the club scene and her plans for Las Vegas, all, of course, while ceaselessly flirting. Matt was still pointedly ignoring Dom, despite being very engaged in conversation with their hostess, even going as far as discussing his favourite lubricant flavours after she announced she’d left a tube of blue raspberry lube in the bedroom the two Englishmen were sharing. Growing quieter and quieter, Dom only munched on the snacks she’d put out for them as he watched the two giggling together. Michelle was completely charmed by the singer, at one point asking for his opinion on her choice of outfit for the evening, the selection consisting almost exclusively of spandex and glitter. Dom had scoffed. As if Matt, strong candidate to win  _NME’_ s Worst Dressed award, knew anything about fashion.  
  
“Isn’t that quite, err, uncomfortable?” Matt was leaning against the bathroom door frame as Michelle finished applying yet another layer of make-up. “You know, tits and a dick.”  
  
“It can be  _such_ a turn on... You should try it at least once in your life!” She winked in her usual over-the-top manner. “I could show you-”  
  
“No, no, I meant for you. I mean, isn't it confusing being a bloke and then...” He gesticulated as words failed him, the sleeves of his black v-neck sweater rolled up to his elbows.  
  
Turning to him, she saw sincere curiosity behind the question. “I know who I really am. And I feel more comfortable now than ever before, I can tell you that much... You’ve gotta be who you’ve gotta be. If that means you have to deal with some shit along the way, then so be it!” A genuinely nice smile graced her features as she placed the brush she was using back in its case. “I have to go. Now boys, feel free to use the phone as much as you need to, order pizza, Chinese, whatever you want for dinner... and enough of this no talking to each other nonsense, I want it over by the time I get back!”  
  
Kissing Dom on the cheek, she stroked his arm with another wink, glittery blue eye shadow nearly blinding him, and then went over to Matt, who had his back against the wall near the door, arms crossed over his chest. She held his face between her hands and, dipping down, pressed her bright red lips to the corner of his mouth, thumb brushing the lipstick away afterwards. He didn’t protest, hadn’t even attempted to pull back, and Dom looked away, trying to ignore the pull in his stomach.  _Tosser_.  
  
Matt wasn’t sure what made him ask. Maybe desperation; complete recklessness, perhaps. But the words were out of his mouth before he could think twice.  
  
“Michelle, have you ever heard of a guy called Zhang Hongbo?”  
  
The dark skinned hand froze on the door handle. Meeting Matt’s eyes slowly as she turned, the expression on Michelle’s face was a mix of panic and terror. “What?” She squeaked. “No. No, no, I don’t know who that man is.”  
  
Dom stood from the armchair he'd been occupying for the past hour, hardly believing the scene. Her reaction obviously hadn’t escaped Matt’s notice, either, as he had moved to block her way out of the flat.  
  
“You know who he is, don’t you? Is he alive? Who is he?” Matt whispered, his heart racing. “I have to know.”  
  
Switching her stare between both her guests, something seemed to connect in Michelle's head. “You’re the musicians, aren’t you? You’re the guys in the band the police are after!”  
  
Matt shook his head immediately, but there was no denying it. His indisputable alarm at the question gave him away.  
  
“It’s alright, I won’t tell anyone about you, you're nice people.” Her head lowered as she tried to side step Matt and reach for the door handle again. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”  
  
“Wait, wait,” Matt insisted, holding her wrist and searching for her eyes. “Tell me what you know. I don’t know where else to turn, I’ve been set up.” He saw her grimacing, squeezing her eyes shut. “Please, Michelle, my life is being destroyed and I don’t even know why.”  
  
She seemed to be going through a violent internal struggle, only a few cryptic words escaping in a whisper. “You have no idea what you’re asking. You shouldn’t be posing questions like that around here, Matt. It’s so dangerous...”  
  
“I promise it won’t leave this room. I need to know where he is, do you know where he is?” He drew closer to her, staring intently into her scared face. “Please, help me.”  
  
“I can’t!” Her eyes widened, head shooting up. “I’ll be dead before I can say his name!” Fixing an invisible blotch at the corner of her eye nervously, she muttered, “No one in Hong Kong will be able to help you, no one knows and those who do will not talk... If you got in his way, then... then you have to run.” She swallowed, but when she faced him again, her gaze was unwavering. “You have my word I won’t turn you in. But you have to promise me that you won’t ask me about this matter again.”  
  
This deflated Matt. He could tell her words were in earnest, that she wouldn’t do anything to hurt them, but also that she would reveal no more about Zhang, regardless of his desperation. He'd heard enough, though, and as he didn’t wish to cause her any trouble, nodded in acquiescence and stepped aside so she could get past him and leave. She was gone after throwing them both a final weak smile, and silence followed her departure.  
  
“Matt, she knows-“  
  
“Shut up, I need to think.”  
  
Dom strode towards his band mate in disbelief, but with a head shake, Matt was off to their room.   
  
Dom kicked the wall when he heard the lock click, fists clenched so tight his nails dug painfully into his palms. What the fuck was wrong with Matt? They had just found out something crucial and now he didn’t want to discuss it? What was he playing at? Judging by Michelle’s terrified reaction solely at the mention of his name, Zhang was most certainly not a victim – what were the odds he was the one actually responsible for all this? It would probably be difficult to find anyone willing to cooperate in bringing him down, but at least now they knew he was not who he appeared to be. Someone should be able to investigate this lead properly, someone should find this information relevant to the case. Pacing the kitchen, eyeing the mobile phone on the table, Dom checked his watch again. Chris would be calling any minute now;  _he_ could relay this important news to the authorities, he could be the one to help them.  
  
Dom wished so badly that he could discuss all this with Matt; he was acting like such a prick. They definitely needed to have a little chat after they talked to Chris.  
  
It was 8:04pm when ‘Just Dance’ by Lady Gaga blared abruptly from the kitchen table and Dom snatched the phone up just as Matt came running in. The singer didn’t make any attempt to take it from him, just folding his arms as Dom answered the call.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“D-Dom? Dom is that you?”  
  
“Chris!” Closing his eyes with a smile, Dom was surprised at how emotional the sound of his friend at the other end of the line made him. “Chris, am I glad to hear your voice, man!”  
  
“Jesus, so am I! Where’s Matt, he’s there with you, right? I’ve been sick with worry, tell me you’re okay!”  
  
“We’re fine, Chris. Relying on the good heart of a tranny at the moment,” he chuckled, noticing the small smile on Matt's lips. “We’re hanging in there and we might have just found out something vital, too. Are you all home? How’s everyone?”  
  
“Christ, it’s been a mess,” the bassist sighed. “I was the only one allowed to go home. We were all arrested at the airport and questioned. They made me talk to Matt when they reached him by phone that day and were pissed off when I didn’t tell him flat out to turn himself in. How could I when I just wanted to punch those fuckers?!” Chris' rage came across loud and clear, and Dom felt inexplicably proud of their friend. “Anderson was released from hospital this morning,” he continued darkly. “We thought he’d fractured some ribs, but turns out he’s just bruised and sore from the beating he took. Fuckers claimed he'd assaulted one of their officers, but it’s a fucking lie. All Tom’s equipment was seized, and Morgan is still stuck there, too, along with most of the crew...  
  
“They aren’t allowed to leave the country, it’s ridiculous, a farce, and the government is a disgrace for not doing anything to help. Management are doing sweet fuck all as well, they seem to have ditched us to fend for ourselves. Tom told me they’d be off to the embassy again today. Wish I could tell ‘em I got in contact with you, but I’m not taking any chances. Of course, everyone’s crossing their fingers for you.”  
  
Dom listened to the report avidly. “How did you manage to get home when they wouldn't let anyone else leave?”  
  
“The police think I made a deal with them. They wanted me to work with them if you tried to contact me... told them I wouldn’t cooperate with shit until I saw my kids first, so here I am. I’m sorry I couldn’t negotiate everyone else’s return...” Dom noted the guilt in his voice, but Chris had done the right thing, in his opinion. He wouldn’t have been of help to anyone had he chosen to stay in Hong Kong. “I’m under surveillance pretty much 24 hours a day, though they think I don’t know. But really, how difficult is it to spot a stranger in Teignmouth?! My phones are tapped, too, and I never meet with the lawyers here at home, just in case... I’m calling from the kids’ school, it’s the only place no one can watch me. Thank fuck you managed to drop me a message, I thought the chances were low you'd see it when I sent that tweet, but I had to try to reach you somehow.”  
  
“It worked, we were just afraid at first it was the police baiting us.”  
  
“Enough of me, what have you two tossers been up to?”  
  
“This is such a fucking scam, Chris, we can’t believe it.” Summarising what they knew, what they thought they knew, what they'd been doing and their most recent speculations, he tried not to let Matt’s unnatural silence and lack of interruptions affect him. He reckoned Chris' words were carrying over to him well enough, but he had expected Matt would want to contribute to the conversation. Usually, he never liked the way Dom relayed things and had to correct him. “So at this point we know that Zhang is probably alive and well and most definitely not who he seems.”  
  
“That is so fucked up. As far as I know, nobody suspects he might be one of the orchestrators. They think he's another victim. I’m gonna have to drop this to the lawyers.”  
  
“Yes, you have to. Also, I’ve been thinking about something else...” Dom glanced over at Matt. “I can testify that Matt wasn’t online or anywhere near a computer at the time one of those compromising e-mails was sent.”  
  
“Tell me what you want me to do.”  
  
The singer’s gaze was glued to the floor now, avoiding his eye as the drummer spoke. “Get the best lawyers you can find-“  
  
“-already working on it-”  
  
“-then tell them to start from Melbourne, that night of the tennis. Matt was... Matt was in my room for most of that night and I swear he didn't have his laptop with him and mine was packed away. He never touched it. Doubtful my word would be enough, but maybe with security footage from the hotel corridors and that, his alibi could be proved. Also, what about our police? Are they working with Hong Kong’s?”  
  
“I’m not sure, to be honest. I get contradictory information all the time and I constantly have the feeling they're hiding stuff from me. But they won’t stop pressuring me to make it public that I want you guys to show yourselves at the embassy, that they can’t help you otherwise. Think they just want to end this fast, have someone, anyone to charge...” There was a slight hesitation. “Dom, you do know that they’re investigating you now, that they’re trying to tie you in to all this, too?”  
  
“Fuck it, it’s not important now,” he quickly dismissed. Any charges he might face would be withdrawn once they’d proven Matt’s innocence. And they  _would_ prove it. “And Warners?”  
  
Another sigh. “Not meddling, the lawyers are working on it, but things aren’t looking good. They’re auditing all the different companies, trying to find out what happened to all the money, so we’ll see what happens.”  
  
“Well, that one’s easy.” Dom furrowed his brow. “They should know that already, it’s in Matt’s bank account, all seven million quid of it.”  
  
Chris whistled at the other end of the line. “Seven? Then some fucker’s got the rest, ‘cos the figure I heard was much higher, Dom. At least 20 million missing so far, and it could be more.” Dom stared at his band mate, the blue eyes finally meeting his at this revelation. Matt was definitely having no problem hearing Chris. “Shit,” Chris coughed. “I’ve gotta go. What’re you doing now?”  
  
Dom sighed. “I wish we could find the connection between Zhang and Matt, he swears he’s never even heard of the bastard before.” He paused as he noticed Matt stretching out his palm, silently asking him for the phone. He gave it to him gently, not sure what to think of Matt’s calm exterior when he had to be bubbling with nerves inside.  
  
“Chris, it’s me. I’m so sorry for all this. I’m sorry that I got everyone involved-“  
  
“Jesus, what are you on about?! The only thing that matters is that we get you out of this, Matt. The truth will come out, just hang in there, okay mate?”  
  
Matt visibly choked up at this and Dom mercifully spared him of the effort of trying to find a response by grabbing the mobile again. “Alright, Chris. Same time tomorrow?”  
  
“Same time tomorrow. I’ll see what I can do about the hotel in Melbourne and the Chinese guy. And Dom,” there was a pause and then he lowered his voice, “don’t let Matt do anything stupid. Take care, guys.”  
  
Dom squeezed the device in his hand for a few moments before removing the SIM card and placing it in his pocket. It had been good to hear Chris’s voice. So good. He felt rejuvenated, knowing there was someone back home who had their backs, that they weren’t completely on their own in this. If they managed to stay in touch and share information, then maybe they'd get somewhere. The loss of the laptop to what he assumed now were Zhang’s people had to have consequences; he wondered what the following day would bring. Although he imagined hiding from the police would still be at the top of their list of priorities.  
  
Alone in the kitchen now, Matt having disappeared as soon as the call was over, Dom wondered what the guitarist was cooking up. Most certainly something he was not going to like... In any case, he couldn't stand this protracted silence and now was definitely not the time to be at odds. They had to stick together no matter what. It was a policy that had served them well for more than half their lives, after all.  
  


***

  
  
A depressing view of backstreet dodgy dealing and desperation met Matt's gaze as he stood looking out their bedroom window, a stark reminder of the incredible good fortune his life had once been home to. Was this what happened when things had been going too well for too long?   
  
His mind had been wheeling furiously over the past hours, more so since Michelle’s off-guard revelation. But it had been great to hear from Chris, to know they were still tight, no matter how many miles separated the trio. He wished he could do something for Tom, Anderson and the rest of the guys; he wished Chris and his family had not been dragged into all this.  
  
Staying in Hong Kong was no longer viable. He couldn't walk outside without looking over his shoulder every five seconds for fear of being followed, he had no resources; he'd lost the laptop to his enemies, who could now poison it with whatever fake evidence they wished before handing it over to the clueless police. But he had a priceless piece of information now – he knew _who_ had orchestrated this diabolical scheme. It wasn’t a faceless crime syndicate, some mythical triad. That had only been a cover up. One man and one man alone had planned his downfall. The motherfucker was alive and probably swimming in the pool of money he’d stolen from Warners before faking his own death, using Matt as a scapegoat.   
  
He also knew what the next step was: get himself a fake passport so he could leave Hong Kong and travel to Macau. Michelle could help him, he was sure she could. It was obvious from her stories that it wouldn’t be the first time she‘d helped smuggle people in and out of the country, including herself. Macau was a short ferry ride away and in the casino industry - where Zhang had made part of his fortune - he would be able to survive. There, he could also discover who Zhang was, where he was and, most importantly of all,  _why_ he had decided to ruin Matt’s life. Admittedly, Matt could perhaps still contact the lawyers while remaining in hiding, he didn’t have to discard that possibility out of hand.  
  
He would hunt that fucking bastard down and harass him until he had no choice but to show his face in public and confess his crimes, all the shit he’d done.   
  
Before all that, though, there was something he needed to take care of. It would not be easy, far from it, but he had to do the right thing, no matter how painful.  
  
He had to make Dom leave him.

 


	10. TEN

**Melbourne**  
Wednesday, 27TH JANUARY 2010   
  
 _Dom was lying comfortably on his side in bed, propped on one elbow, chin resting on his hand. The sheets were clinging to his sweaty skin, but now that he’d switched the air conditioning on, wondering why in the world they hadn’t done it earlier, the room was being invaded by a pleasant chill. The sweltering Australian summer heat was unbelievable, even at night. Watching as Matt struggled to get into his trousers, he snickered when his band mate nearly stumbled, his jerky motions becoming hastier by the second.  
  
Matt had his back turned to the relaxed figure on the bed but he still felt observed. And when he heard the stifled laugh, he could perfectly picture the smile on Dom’s face in his mind. A smug, self-satisfied smirk.  
  
“Why d'you have to fucking stare at me while I’m getting dressed?” He grumbled, annoyed at how his shirt sleeves were sticking to his arms. “Bloody creepy.”  
  
“Doesn’t bother you to be naked on top of me, but you’re self-conscious about me seeing you put your clothes on? Actually, scratch that,” Dom’s voice lowered to a husky whisper, “not on top this time...”  
  
Matt’s stomach flip-flopped again, another wave of heat, oppressive heat, hitting him. “Well, yeah, we have to talk about that, by the way.”  
  
The blond dropped onto his back, head still turned towards Matt. “_ That  _being the naked on top of me versus naked not on top of me?” He cheekily asked. “You know I don’t mind either way, we can go back to how we were doing it if you feel more comfortable. Told you it would be weird the first time that you-“  
  
“Dom. Shut it.”  
  
Matt didn’t want to talk about that, he didn’t even want to think about it. Such a terrible mistake; what the hell had been going through his head? What the hell had he been trying to prove?! That, yes, sex and friendship could coexist happily, regardless of gender? That sleeping with blokes didn’t affect who a man was in the least? That sleeping with Dom would be the same as sleeping with some random slapper? That this would be the ultimate proof that Dom being gay had no influence whatsoever on their friendship?   
  
Fuck knows what had gotten into him when he’d proposed it. He’d completely lost the plot, was what it was. Mess about like that with Dom? Most mental thing he’d ever done. By far. And why had the twat gone along with it, anyway? He should have refused as soon as he brought it up; but trust Dom not to make a decision without asking his dick’s opinion in the process.  
  
He'd been cool enough with fucking Dom; they’d had fun, he had to admit it. It wasn’t that different from doing a woman. Well... it was different, of course it was. But different as in the same food in another flavour. But switching around... Matt wasn’t that pissed that he didn’t know what he was doing... But he had obviously gone too far, otherwise it wouldn't be messing with his head like this, all the nagging doubts and fears of the past months suddenly resurfacing. And not even because he had enjoyed it, that wasn’t the problem in itself, but...  
  
Some lines should not be crossed. And this was where he should have drawn his own regarding his physical relationship with Dom.   
  
“Think it’s better we stop doing this.”  
  
Dom was caught off guard, slowly sitting up. “You mean...”  
  
“I mean that we’re not fucking doing it again.” Still avoiding his best friend’s searching eyes, Matt focused on closing the last button on his crumpled light grey shirt. He didn’t know why he was bothering, the heat was killing him. “Would be too odd if we got caught. Would cause fucking hysteria, is what it would do, and mean explanations that I do not need to give. “  
  
“What are you on about? No one’s gonna know.”  
  
“Yeah, well, shit happens and people find out stuff you want kept secret. And for fuck’s sake, you don’t even have the balls to tell the others about yourself, how would you deal with explaining what you’ve been doing with me?!”  
  
Dom’s expression turned to ice and even in the dim light Matt could see his muscles going rigid in affront. “Judging by the way you’ve been acting, I’m starting to think that even telling _ you _was a huge mistake.”_  
  
 _Matt swallowed. He hadn’t meant to... Shit, he didn’t want to offend Dom._  
  
 _“And why the hell are you standing there, making excuses...?” Dom’s posture changed dramatically as he stretched out on his back leisurely, all effortlessly sensual ease once more. “Doesn’t take a bloody genius to see what you mean. Fine by me if you don’t wanna do it again... 's not as if I have much trouble finding a shag,” he drawled, rubbing his chest. “This may come as a surprise to you, but you know, just because we fucked doesn’t mean that I’m madly in love with you or something ridiculous like that.”_  
  
 _It stung. Less due to the words, more the cuttingly sarcastic way they were delivered. Dom had never, in all the time they’d known each other, spoken to him so viciously._  
  
 _“Thankfully,” Matt finally replied when he’d found his wits again, wiping at the sweat on his forehead. It had felt like taking a punch to the gut. “’Cos that would be weird.”_  
  
 _Feeling awfully uncomfortable and actually intimidated by Dom’s reaction, Matt was nearly out of the room when the drummer spoke again. “That said...” His voice seemed softer now, or maybe it was Matt's wishful thinking as his hand remained on the door handle, squeezing the metal tight. “I suppose after all these years of putting up with your constant abuse and all your obscenely irritating habits, I reckon it can't be anything less than love between you and I. It being blind and all.”_  
  
 _The cheeky grin was back on Dom’s face and Matt had to stop himself from visibly exhaling in relief. “Must be. Why else would I put up with those cheap drum riffs?”_  
  
 _They stared at each other in silence for a moment before abruptly breaking into raucous laughter at the same time._  
  
 _“Jesus, you’re worse than a bird.” Dom pulled the sheet higher over himself. “I need to sleep, it’s too bloody late to be having this conversation. With you, of all people.”_  
  
 _Matt smiled. For a long, scary minute he had been sure things had been irreversibly fucked up. That they seemed to have got through it, though, only reinforced his belief that it had all been a tremendous mistake. He should have known better than to mess about with the most important personal relationship remaining to him. “Alright, back to my room. Err, thanks for...” His arms hung uselessly at his sides; he felt so lame. “Well, thanks for that.”_  
  
 _“God, yes. Make me feel like a cheap tart, I love it. At least you’re polite.” Matt tossed a pillow from the couch at Dom and he caught it with a flourish, pretending to have received a crippling blow to the chest. “Go now, before we wake someone up. Out of my room, let me sleep!”_  
  
 _Slipping out into the hallway after making sure no one was outside, which was stupid because theoretically there was nothing suspicious about him staying up late in Dom’s room, Matt's forehead thudded against the door as soon as he found himself in his own hotel room. He took several deep breaths. He was a fucking coward, he realised; his actions had been prompted by fear, nothing more._  
  
 _But after such a bitter end to the other meaningful relationship in his life, all he knew was that he was unwilling to compromise another, no matter what it cost._  
  
 _Dom meant far too much to him, he couldn’t afford to lose him. Ever._  


 

***

  
  
Still standing by the window, Matt had already sensed Dom’s presence in the bedroom, but only when the hand touched his shoulder did the tangle of anger, frustration and confusion erupt. A roiling mass of emotions he couldn’t control. He hated that he felt everything so intensely, was so drawn to chaos, that he had this innate talent for turning everything into a jumbled mess. He’d always been rubbish at separating things, at drawing lines and having boundaries... Why couldn’t he be like Dom, for once? Relaxed and unflappable, not letting things get to him... He could do this, he just had to say it. They had to split. He simply had to be blunt with Dom, like he was in the studio where they’d produced their own fucking album and had to be each other’s harshest critic. It was like... it was like in Melbour-   
  
“Matt?” Dom called quietly, his only response the tensing of the muscle under his hand. “Matt, we need to-“  
  
“We need to what, Dom?” The singer spun around, voice clipped.  
  
The stormy blue eyes had the drummer baffled. This couldn’t be only to do with this afternoon’s events; something he wasn’t privy to was making Matt edgy, there was something lingering there he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He dropped his hand from the lean shoulder. “What the fuck, Matt? Why are you acting like this?”  
  
“God, you’re such a stupid wanker.”  
  
He stormed past Dom, pushing him out of the way by shoving him in the chest with both hands, but the drummer was having none of it and didn’t let him go far. Gripping Matt's arm instinctively, Dom twirled him around, the singer furiously attempting to retaliate and free himself by pushing him back by his shoulders. They wrestled awkwardly, grappling with each other, until Dom lost his balance and staggered backwards against the wall, but not without dragging Matt with him.  
  
“Shit!” The drummer grunted, Matt’s bowed head colliding with his chin and nearly making him bite his own tongue.  
  
It hurt and his breath was knocked out of him momentarily. He fully expected Matt to land a punch or take the opportunity to try and leave, but the singer did neither. Breathing hard against Dom’s collarbone, his head was almost cradled under the drummer’s chin, who could feel the heat radiating from the taut, wired body against his. And Dom knew he shouldn’t go there, that he had forbidden himself from indulging in certain fantasies and memories, but he couldn't help himself. As much as he tried to banish it to the back of his mind, time and time again, it was always there, lurking, revealing itself when least appropriate.  
  
It was then Matt’s hands began to crawl over his shoulders in an awkward embrace, clasping the hair at the nape of his neck, and Dom’s head tilted back as the slender fingers curled tightly around his locks. He felt Matt’s head raising slowly, progress marked by the uneven hot breaths tickling up his throat.... and it was torture. Pure torture to Dom, and he wished for nothing more at that moment than to find the will to push Matt away. The tugging on his hair made his neck bend back even further and for a glorious moment he imagined the ghost of Matt’s lips brushing his skin, of his teeth as he nipped at his chin, across Dom’s lips... he could taste Matt’s tongue forcing them apart, sneaking past them.  
  
But it was no ghostly memory of Australia playing tricks with his mind, he realised in shock - it was real life, present Matt on his toes, gripping his hair with trembling hands like his life depended on it, mouth fierce and hungry upon his, demanding and dominant. Lunging forward against the brunet before he could question what he was doing, Dom tried to close the gap between their bodies completely, the singer instantly answering by trying to pull back, as if he regretted his actions. But before he could slip away, Dom had him backed against the wall, reversing their positions, moans escaping their mouths as their groins rubbed together. And after that, Matt no longer fought him. His thin hands only clung to the toned arms as the drummer crushed their lean frames together, angling his head sideways to deepen their kisses.  
  
Dom had missed this. He had missed Matt’s mouth, his tongue, his body. His stubble scratching his face as they kissed, his electric fingers raking through his hair. And it was all exactly like he remembered it, the sensations having been indelibly imprinted on his brain, for he had been resigned to never experiencing them again. He didn't really understand why this was happening and maybe he should; but he wanted nothing more than to let go and enjoy it, enjoy him.  
  
“I-” Dom tried to break away, but lips had again covered his, before he could form another word, and they were gentler now. They had captured his upper lip for a delicate suck, a velvety tongue probing out to swipe at it teasingly, only to slip inside his mouth afterwards to stroke his own tongue.  
  
It made him weak at the knees and when Matt reached one hand out to guide Dom’s between them to the fly of his grey trousers, he knew he was gone, transfixed as the back of Matt's head rested against the wall and the blue eyes fluttered closed. Cupping Matt through the fabric, he massaged him slowly but steadily, stimulating him to full arousal, until he was holding Dom’s neck firmly with both hands yet again, reaching forward open mouthed for more.  
  
When the skilled hand unzipped him and boldly ventured inside his boxers, Matt only bucked his hips. “Fuck...”  
  
“Come here... come over here, Matt...”  
  
Dom's voice was thick and heavy with longing. He couldn't bear it any longer; he couldn’t fool himself and pretend that he didn’t want this with every fibre of his being. He wanted Matt on that bed with him and he wanted it now, he was aching for it. Tugging on the singer's black sweater gruffly, both stumbled across the room with their lips locked and Matt fell back on the mattress heavily, with Dom on top of him.  
  
Their clothing began piling on the floor, scattering around them as they writhed together on the bed, and when Dom eventually sat back with one knee each side of the singer's thighs, preparing to remove Matt’s trousers, he found himself stilling at the sight below him; an expanse of creamy white skin was displayed for his edification, only interrupted by the waistband of navy boxers, which rode low on pointed hips and revealed a small patch of dark hair peeking from beneath. Matt was breathing hard, staring up at him in anticipation with lust filled dark eyes, and Dom couldn't resist sinking his face into his stomach, trailing a wet pathway with small kisses as the singer wriggled, legs kicking to assist him in the removal of his remaining clothing.  
  
Once they were both equally undressed, after Matt had harshly pulled the infuriatingly clingy black skinnies down the other man's legs, the brunet glided upwards to Dom's chest, his mouth centring on a fleshy nipple, lips closing around the nub as his tongue flicked it. The blond thrust his hips up for more contact, holding Matt’s head close, and the singer shifted on top of him, giving the same treatment to the other nipple but this time with one hand buried between Dom’s legs, cupping his balls, squeezing and releasing gently. Tilting his head as he inched up the pliant body, Matt hovered at his neck, moist lips parting to release hot breaths over the feverish skin.  
  
“Where’s your wallet?” He murmured before flattening his tongue on the side of the Dom’s neck. In his cloudy, lustful haze as Matt caressed him, Dom had lost all ability to think. “Your wallet, Dom... where is it...? You’ve got condoms in there...”  
  
“It’s...” Dom barely comprehended the implications of the question, the hand that wrapped around his length too distracting. A nibble on his earlobe; a tug on his cock. “My j-jacket, it’s in my jacket... ”  
  
Matt’s tongue slid into his mouth, lips colliding as he angled his head and intensified the kiss, and the drummer’s hands were gripping his sides firmly, fingers digging into the flesh to adjust him in his lap as he sat up. Limbs entwined, he pressed Matt’s small arse down into his crotch.  
  
“Let me have you...” Dom rasped as he rubbed up against him, their sweaty chests sliding together deliciously. “I have to. Let me fuck you, Matt...”  
  
Releasing the full lips with a small popping noise, Matt extricated himself from the tight embrace observed by bewildered grey eyes, but Dom’s apprehension only lasted a moment. He was collecting the wallet from his leather jacket, searching for a condom and fishing the lube that Michelle had mentioned earlier out of the nightstand. It was all a frenzied blur to Dom, lost in sexual ecstasy, as Matt ripped the pack open with his teeth and pushed him down flat on the bed, proceeding to put the condom on him and slick him with the lube. He noticed vaguely how Matt’s hands shook but nothing in the way the singer moved gave any sign of hesitation. When Matt sat astride him again and lowered himself onto his cock, Dom could only let out a guttural groan and attempt to control himself.  
  
It was all very slow and deliberate at first, as Matt accustomed himself to the penetration, Dom letting him go at his own pace and just enjoying how the other man rode him with shut eyes, gradually growing more confident and loose limbed. Back in Australia, he’d pretty much let Matt lead the whole time, do whatever the hell he wished with him; even in Melbourne, the only time they’d swapped and he’d let Dom penetrate him, he’d been the one calling the shots. But that week hadn’t been enough, could never be enough; there was so much more he wanted to do with him, so much more he fantasised about.  
  
When Matt’s cock was fully hard again and Dom knew he was comfortable, he sat up, lifting his knees a bit, and his hand replaced Matt’s own on his dick.   
  
“Lie down on the bed...” Dom whispered huskily in his ear, dropping a small kiss there as both hands moved to the narrow hips. “Lie down on your stomach...”  
  
He half expected some resistance to the request, but there was no displeasure in Matt’s eyes. He only gave a dazed, aroused nod of the head as he lifted himself off Dom with a small hitch in his breathing and allowed the other man to shift him around on the bed until the drummer was covering his body with his own. Aligning his cock along the cleft of his arse, between his buttocks, Dom almost shuddered at the thrill of feeling Matt breathing underneath him, his ribcage rising and falling rapidly. The heat radiating from him and his nude skin adhering to Dom’s left him light-headed with desire.  
  
Pressing his lips to the back of the singer’s neck, Dom steered the wiry arms across the mattress to stretch above his head, joining the slender wrists so he could hold them together with one hand.  
  
“Dom...” Matt tried to move but he was clasped more firmly. “Dom... Dom, I need to-”  
  
A sharp intake of breath followed, his hips rising off the bed to make room for Dom’s sly hand, which had crept under his body to grip his cock. Matt began a shallow grinding into the warm grasp, the movement of his arse offering divine friction on Dom’s cock as well, and soon the blond was nudging his legs apart with his knee, purring roughly as he pushed inside Matt. Settling into a steady rhythm, which had him exhaling loudly onto the salty skin of the brunet's shoulder where his face rested, the room was fast filled with a cacophony of grunts and sighs as they moved in unison, bodies fused.  
  
“So good... so good, Matt...”  
  
Matt had almost raised himself to his knees by then, Dom letting go of his wrists to balance himself, but his face was still hidden in the pillow and the drummer took a hand to his slippery forehead, tilting his head back to lift it up. Matt’s back arched, a shaky moan escaping his mouth, and Dom’s cock throbbed; with half lidded eyes and parted mouth expelling quick, shallow breaths, Matt appeared almost delirious.  
  
He tried to turn Matt's head so he could reach for a kiss but as he did so, the guitarist caught a finger between his teeth and bit down hard with a growl. Dom winced but his first instinct wasn’t to pull away – instead, he shoved the finger into Matt’s mouth. The black haired man gagged for a second, but then he closed his lips around it. And sucked.  
  
“Sweet Jesus, Matt...”  
  
He couldn’t resist inserting a second digit, hips jerking forward as his fingers began mirroring the rocking of his pelvis, Matt’s teeth grazing his knuckles as he thrust them in and out of his mouth. His slim body tensed further, breathing growing shallower, and Dom ceased the motions of his hand along his cock, just squeezing the base. Even with the fingers stuffing his mouth, Matt still groaned loudly.  
  
“Shit...” Dom rasped. “Turn over, turn around...”  
  
Flipping Matt over and gathering some more lube before he crawled between spread legs, he dipped down towards Matt’s moist lips, frantically reaching for his mouth for a wet, messy kiss, teeth gnawing as both struggled to breathe. He held the back of Matt's knees, bending his legs against his heaving chest and lifting them high enough to rest on his shoulders while Dom sat back on his heels on the bed.  
  
“The fuck you doing...?” The words were faint as Matt stared back at him with wide, wild eyes, making to prop himself up on his elbows.  
  
“No, don’t move, trust me... you’ll love it... “  
  
Dom pressed the tip of his cock against his opening and pushed in slightly, only to pull right back. And then he pushed in again, sliding in a little more. He went deeper when he repeated the motion, Matt’s hands fisting the sheet each side of his body with a grunt. And then Dom thrust harder and Matt cried out.  
  
“There...?” He was swaying his hips indolently, Matt stroking himself with both hands, face contorted into an expression of unadulterated pleasure.  
  
“Oh,  _shit_...”  
  
Dom began moving harder, taking his time between each sharp, intentional thrust, and in that position the effect on Matt was overwhelming, his breath hitching in the back of his throat as Dom pounded into him. Soon they were both panting raggedly and when the blond increased the rhythm, Matt was completely undone, pumping himself faster, his trapped body shuddering. The curve of his throat as he released those little high-pitched breathy moans, his head twisting on the pillow and dishevelling his black locks even more... Dom was sure the sight alone would be enough to unhinge anyone.  
  
“Is that too much...?” Dom gasped. “Is it too much?”   
  
“I can’t... fucking hell... Dom, I’m gonna...”  
  
Slowing his pace until he nearly came to a halt, Dom let his cock slip all the way out and then slowly glided in, Matt’s eyes rolling into the back of his head when he hit his prostate once more. He repeated the motion and a long drawn out whine reached his ears.  
  
“Come on, Matt... come on...”  
  
“I’m gonna... Dom... Dom, oh  _fuck_!”  
  
Dom could feel the body underneath him stiffening, muscles contracting, and he lunged inside him again, pounding, thrusting with abandon. The pressure in his groin was unbearable, creeping up his body, his balls tightening as he gripped Matt’s legs hard and, brain shutting off completely, he was coming.   
  
Breathless, Dom collapsed on top of Matt between his thighs, arms wrapped around them, his damp head resting on the centre of his band mate’s heaving chest. When he stirred back to consciousness, after looking down at his own chest sticky with Matt’s come, he let the other man’s legs slide down onto the mattress and shuffled up until they were face to face.  
  
The long, dark lashes flickered and Matt’s eyes opened, bright and clear, glistening with the reflection of the street lights outside, and at that moment Dom wanted nothing more than to swoop down and kiss him senseless. But he didn’t. Matt was gazing back at him, though, almost curiously, and so without breaking eye contact, Dom leant down and pressed his lips softly against Matt’s, in a chaste brush heavy with affection.   
  
“I’m going to the toilet, I’ll be right back,” he whispered, finally forcing himself to get up.  
  
He picked his boxers off the floor with a small smirk at Matt, the underwear caught in his black skinnies, the brunet’s stare riveted to his muscular, naked arse as he walked out the door.  
  
Matt rubbed his eyes vigorously with the palms of his hands, mind whirling and unable to switch off, even after a mind-blowing orgasm. He said he wasn’t going to do it again, he shouldn’t even feel tempted to do it again. So why the fuck did he have to go and... and... Sighing, he covered his face with an arm. There was just no way he could deal with this now; as if he didn’t have enough on his mind as it was.  
  
And how the hell was he supposed to go forward with his plans now? For starters, there was no way Dom would ever consent to being left behind, to somehow being persuaded into what he’d no doubt consider ‘abandoning’ Matt; it had been mental to even consider it. The idea was loathsome, but he'd probably have to sneak out in the middle of the night and leave Dom a note. There was no other way.  
  
He didn’t want to do it. The conflict of emotions was so strong, but at the eye of that hurricane, it was undeniable how he wished to have Dom’s company now more than ever before. It was simply too dangerous to remain together, though. Matt would get too distracted, sidetracked if tonight was any indication, and they’d both be constantly worrying about each other instead of focusing on what needed to be done.  
  
He was beginning to feel as though there was much more at stake here than when this whole clusterfuck had begun. Knowing that you had friends you could count on no matter what wasn’t supposed to hurt like this.  
  
Dom coughing in the hall alerted Matt to his arrival and, bending over to retrieve his own underwear from the floor, he slid off the bed and they walked past each other at the doorway. When Matt returned, Dom was already lying in bed, on his back, arms crossed under his head as he gazed up at the ceiling. Slipping in discreetly next to the drummer, his back to him, Matt flinched when he felt the duvet falling over him.  
  
He was so nervous and uptight, it was ridiculous. When he spoke, though, his voice sounded softer and gentler than usual. “Dom?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“How did you know?”  
  
For a moment, Dom was unsure what Matt was referring to. Did  _he_ know? But then he realised the question was really about his sexual orientation. It certainly wasn’t the first time Matt had asked him, but now the question seemed... different, somehow. Would Dom ever have the balls to tell him? Sometimes he sensed that, in his own way, Matt already knew. That they both knew, but were doing their best to ignore the fucking great elephant in the middle of the room. He'd berated himself many times for not being honest with his friend, but at the same time knew it would be simply insane to tell him; there was so much more at stake than just their friendship. Although, prior to that afternoon in Como, Dom had also believed it would be mental to tell Matt he shagged men, had been for a fair few years... From time to time, he still wondered whether that conversation had really taken place.  
  
Pulling closer to the man in the bed next to him, Dom replied as he always had, ever since the first time Matt had asked him about it.  
  
“I just did.”  
  
Maybe one day the answer he gave would be the truth.  
  


 

***

  
  
Dom was usually a heavy sleeper, no matter what the circumstances. Unlike Matt, he could fall sleep anywhere and for as long as his body demanded. But for no discernible reason, he found himself suddenly awake, slowly becoming aware of the form next to him stirring, and he mumbled against his arm in annoyance.  
  
“Jesus, what is it, Matt...?”  
  
Sensing Matt sitting up, he opened an eye groggily to look. His band mate was fully alert, eyes glittering like a cat’s in the darkness, his gaze fixed upon something behind Dom in the direction of the door.  
  
His distraught expression was enough to wake Dom up completely.


	11. ELEVEN

  
There was literally no time to react.  
  
Dom’s head whipped around to see what could possibly be the reason for Matt’s panicked expression, but before he could discern anything beyond rapidly advancing shadowy human silhouettes, the two musicians had already been violently yanked out of the bed, sturdy clawed hands seizing them and dragging them across the floor in their underwear before they could even think of raising an objection. Wrists fastened behind their backs with some sort of rough cord, they were both forced to their knees, facing each other on opposite sides of the bedroom. Each was made to watch as the ruthless attacker behind the other pulled out a gun, flicked off the safety and pressed the cold metal against their temple.  
  
Matt could see Dom squeezing his eyes shut, harshly biting his lip, and in that instant the singer saw his entire life flash before his eyes.  
  
But nothing happened. Perpetual, petrifying silence had fallen over the flat. And then Matt flinched.  
  
Footsteps.  
  
It was the sound of someone’s shoes scuffing the floor as they entered the bedroom, the deliberate steps of someone who was in no rush but had a very precise mission. It was then that Matt realised how fast his heart was pounding, how for several seconds he had forgotten to breathe. A pair of legs in dark suit trousers appeared in his line of sight, eventually coming to a stop right in front of him and blocking the view across the room to Dom. It took Matt a long moment before he could steel himself to tentatively look up.  
  
An Asian man stood before him in an expensive, impeccably well cut suit, the scent of subtle cologne that Matt would probably recognise under different circumstances reaching his nostrils. Despite his advanced baldness, the man didn’t seem very old and although he wasn’t very tall, the way he coldly stared down at the trapped singer, his gaze bordering on contemptuous, made Matt feel as though the stranger was standing on a high pedestal. At a short order in Cantonese from the authoritative figure, Matt’s gun-toting captor pulled the weapon away from his head and proceeded to search the bedroom, using a flashlight as he pawed through clothes, bedcovers, even underneath the mattress.  
  
The clear leader of the operation straightened his tie, a luxury watch glinting on his wrist with the movement, his eyes never straying from Matt.  
  
“One has to wonder what she ever saw in you. An insignificant little grub.” He began a slow stroll around the frozen musician trussed on the floor at his feet. “Not even a real man.”  
  
Matt could feel the man’s stare burning into his skin, the words spinning around and around, rattling inside his brain. Who was ‘she’? Who was he talking about? His wife, girlfriend? Had Matt seduced his significant other? Had he slept with her? When had he last had anything sexual to do with an Asian woman? Maybe she wasn’t Asian. Maybe he hadn’t done anything but ogle her.  
  
“But such are females. Always unpredictable and given to strange and incomprehensible acts. Especially the young, innocent ones.”  
  
No, there had to be some mistake, Matt would never sleep with someone underage. Harmless flirting, maybe; but that was it, how could anyone take it the wrong way? He’d fucked up quite a lot recently, but not to such an extent. No, no, no, this was all a huge misunderstanding, that’s what it was. He shook his head dimly, swallowing, his voice almost inaudible when he spoke.  
  
“I don’t know-“  
  
“But of course you don’t know what I’m talking about, do you...”  
  
The assailant who had been exhaustedly exploring the bedroom was now going through the rest of the small flat and the leader was again facing Matt with dark, expressionless eyes. And it suddenly dawned on him. He knew him. Matt recognised this person. After the shock of the attack, after the enigmatic accusations thrown his way, he realised he actually knew who this man was. They had never met before but the singer had seen pictures of him online, in Hong Kong, only two days prior. The unfamiliar name had first been mentioned to him at Hong Kong’s Chek Lap Kok Airport a few days ago when he’d been interrogated by the local police. A name that only a week ago was utterly unknown to him seemed to be permanently linked to his life now, his fate. And here he stood, not just a name but a tangible presence, threat made physical.  
  
“You wouldn’t remember, so typical is your behaviour,” Zhang Hongbo continued. “But I know how the mind and body of a rock star works, I have for many years. I offer the right women to the artists who demand them, to the star who wants their desires or the desires of those who work for them fulfilled. For the right price, for those who are willing to pay, there is almost no limit to what I can offer.” His voice lowered. “A shame for you that my daughter’s dignity is not for sale.”  
  
Dom’s eyes were wide, his head tilted to the side as he tried to distance himself from the gun at his temple. Matt’s stomach was churning, torn between hatred for the man who was currently circling him as if he was defenceless prey, and the need to understand exactly what he was talking about, as he had no idea who he could possibly be referring to. Groupies? Prostitutes? Had anyone in the crew, someone on the tour, gotten themselves into something dodgy...? But no, it couldn't be – this was personal and he was the target. Matt had to know, had to clarify why he was being persecuted; he needed to make sure for his own sake that he hadn’t done anything that could, in any way, justify what he was being put through.  
  
But as he was opening his mouth to speak, his hair was pulled viciously from behind, the scent of the elusive cologne stronger.  
  
“Do you have  _any_ idea how much it has cost me, how much money I’ve lost in the past two days because of you and your little boyfriend?” Zhang hissed spitefully in his ear. “Because you decided to play the hero, run off and make things difficult for everyone, instead of doing what you were supposed to do? Do you think I have nothing better to do than to worry about where you are, than to send people to look for you?” Tugging on the black hair harder as he spoke, he twisted a tuft around in his hand and Matt closed his eyes, trying not to give away how much it hurt. “When you went missing that first day, I confess I was amused. The second day, I was annoyed, but still not overly bothered. Now... now I am angry, Mr. Bellamy. _Very_ angry.” He let go of his hair at last and Matt’s head dropped forward on his limp neck, his scalp throbbing. His whole body was trembling, not with fear but with rage, as it all began to sink in.  
  
“You... used me. You robbed millions from Warners, used me, faked your own death and made everyone think I was part of some triad... Why? Because of your daughter? Who’s your daughter?”  
  
The man crouched down before Matt, the same rigid expression on his clean-shaven face. “No, Mr. Bellamy. I understand that your delusional fantasies and megalomania badly distort your perception of reality, but I must not let you get confused. You are nothing more than a mere means to an end. You were chosen because you were convenient. Your name came up at the right time and that is it. You were  _perfect_ ,” and there was a glint in his dark eyes now. “A convenient, irrelevant nobody...” his eyes narrowed, “...who turned into an irritating little pest. Who is about to be crushed with the force of an empire. It has been destined from the start.”  
  
Matt felt his throat clogging, anger boiling inside as another brainstorm hit him. What was Zhang saying...? That there had been absolutely no reason for his torment? Was that what he was trying to tell him? That his life had been condemned for no reason other than him having the misfortune to become an insignificant pawn in someone else’s crooked schemes of thievery? He could not accept this; he refused to accept it, he was not going to accept it!  
  
There had to be some sort of thirst for revenge here, something that had triggered this, something that could somehow justify, regardless of what fucked up logic was being used, why a complete stranger would exploit him so unscrupulously, with so little regard for his life. What kind of sick, deceitful bastard would plan something like this without even  _knowing_ Matt? There had to be something more to it.   
  
“Tell me who your daughter is.” She had to be a fan, he knew it somehow. There had to be more to the cause of his hardships than simple, tragic ill luck, his involvement in all this couldn’t be the result of pure accident. “I’ll remember who she is if I met her.”  
  
“Oh, I’ve no doubt you’ll remember her. She was so helpful that I’ll make sure you won’t forget her when you’re rotting in your cell.” Zhang stood up, again looking down on Matt. “There is no escape for you, Mr. Bellamy, all evidence points towards the fact that you threatened Zhang Hongbo with murder. You knew that his company had connections to your own record label. Was Warners not a recurring theme of conversation at many of your poker games in casinos the world over, where you played against some of Zhang Hongbo’s regular gambling patrons?”  
  
“Weren’t you in Las Vegas only last December, drowning your sorrows, gambling the night away? It certainly seemed as if life wasn’t treating you well.” Matt was shaken to the core, swaying in disbelief as the other man’s mouth twitched in cruel amusement. “Matthew Bellamy, mourning past decisions that had brought him so much grief and regret. Including his band’s contract with Warners, so restrictive of artistic freedom. You wanted to end it, get out of it, before you were driven permanently mad. And what better way to do it... than to steal from Warners itself to pay the fee for terminating the contract early and create your own label?”  
  
“That’s bollocks!” Matt burst out in a high pitched voice; each word he was hearing was like another needle sliding into his flesh. “Who’s gonna believe that?!”  
  
Zhang released a hollow laugh, laced with scorn. “They already do. What’s so hard to believe about it? And there is evidence, too, plenty of evidence in your own computer. Evidence, too, that you joined the Sun Yee On Triad. Do you have any idea how many times you’ve played poker with their associates? In London and other parts of the world? You had muscle to back you up if Zhang Hongbo didn’t accede to your demands.  
  
“As an honourable man, he attempted to sabotage your plan, but he was discovered. And then terminated. Unfortunately for you, the authorities were fast. And unless you cooperate in court and tell them who your accomplices are and where all the money is, you will be blamed for it all.”   
  
The subordinate who had been searching the flat was back, instantly approaching his boss, the two conversing lowly in Cantonese. Matt was completely speechless, his gaze dropping to the floor as he processed these revelations. But without him registering, Zhang was turning his attention to the stunned musician again, fury lending colour to his pale features. And without warning, he struck Matt in the stomach with a pointy-toed shoe, the singer grunting and automatically folding over in pain, his forehead hitting the floor without his hands to catch his fall. Dom shifted uncomfortably, disgusted by everything he was witnessing, but his own sentinel clutched his shoulder in warning and the blond bit his tongue, fearing he’d make things worse if he spoke up.  
  
Matt had barely recovered, coughing and spluttering from the severe kick he’d received, when he was pulled up by his hair. He cried out as his body was hauled the short distance to the bed, with his hands still tied behind his back. His chest and face were forced flat on the mattress, breathing nearly impossible, and a heavy body behind him crushed him against the bed, locking an arm around his throat. His head was pulled roughly back.  
  
“Where. Is. The. Laptop.”  
  
“Don’t know...” The reply was wheezed out as Matt’s head swam, eyes watering with pain.   
  
The response wasn’t satisfactory. Matt’s arm was cruelly twisted, so harshly, in fact, that for a brief moment the blinding pain had him convinced his shoulder had been dislocated. Zhang was beside the bed now, and through the anguished haze the musician was aware that he was taking a gun from inside his jacket as he spoke.  
  
“I don’t like to personally spill blood or use other barbaric methods of persuasion, but sometimes they’re a necessary evil.” He pressed the gun barrel against the gash on Matt’s cheek. “You were asked a question, Mr. Bellamy.”  
  
“I don’t have it...” Matt breathed.  
  
Another brusque twist of his arm, accompanied by the small sound of a crack, and this time Matt screamed, a beefy hand immediately shooting out to clamp over his mouth and muffle his voice, splitting his lip against his teeth in the process. The taste of blood in his mouth was almost a welcome distraction from the pain they were inflicting on him. He was sure that another pull and his bone would snap.  
  
“Stop it! Jesus, stop it! He doesn’t have it!”  
  
The grip on Matt slackened and the criminals turned their eyes to Dom, the blond’s skin covered in a layer of panic-induced perspiration. He couldn’t watch this any longer, he couldn’t bear seeing them hurt Matt like this. Sod the clawed hand on his shoulder and the gun in his face, none of it mattered.  
  
Despite his strained voice, Dom tried his best to keep his composure. “Leave him alone, he’s telling the truth... he doesn’t have it...”  
  
Matt closed his eyes, cold sweat making him shudder, his body tingling in excruciating agony. They would turn on Dom now; they would turn on Dom and they would hurt him as well if he didn’t do anything to prevent it.  
  
“He doesn’t, doesn’t -“  
  
“Very well, Mr. Howard.” Zhang ignored Matt, his sugary, condescending tone making Dom want to puke all over his shiny shoes. “The computer is not here, we know that much. So where is it?”  
  
“We don’t know, we were attacked twice by someone...” Dom took a deep breath. “First time we managed to run away, but the second time they got it...” They had to believe them.   
  
Approaching Dom, the businessman signalled to the lackey who held him captive; the gun was shoved harder against the side of his head, Dom’s eyes closing in reflex, as he was grabbed more firmly.  
  
“Don’t! He’s telling the truth, let him go! He’s telling the truth!” Matt’s words tumbled over each other, his voice hoarse.  
  
“Tell us the truth, Mr. Bellamy. And your little boyfriend won’t die.”  
  
“It’s the truth, I swear it’s the fucking truth! We lost it this afternoon!”  
  
In the midst of the pain, despite the terror that they wouldn’t believe them and the consequences that could bring, there were still two facts that leaped out at Matt as Zhang observed him wordlessly, trying to read him: he’d been wrong and the actual possessors of the laptop were not Zhang’s people; this fact had instigated fear in the villain. Matt also understood that the bloody computer was again more important than their lives, and that if the entrepreneur no longer found the two of them useful, this flat could become their graveyard.  
  
Silence had set in again, Matt aware that he had Zhang’s full attention.  
  
“We lost the laptop, but...” He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to keep the sharp pain in his arm at bay. He needed to keep his cool if he was to have any hope of keeping them alive. “We lost it but it’s dead, we broke it when we were running away from the police...” The anticipation and anxiety, the barely detectable pang of relief that emerged on Zhang’s features for a split second encouraged Matt.  
  
“You’re bluffing. Don’t gamble with me; you will lose.”  
  
“No! No, I’m not, it’s true...” Matt heaved, struck with a bout of self-belief despite his foe’s threats. “We don’t know the extent of the damage... it could be repaired, we don’t know...” Zhang glanced at his henchman and the arm around Matt’s neck squeezed tighter, choking him so his following words came out in gasps, the Asian businessman advancing on him again. “... unless we could identify the person who took it and it was recovered bef-before...” And he was unable to continue, his air supply reduced to the point his mouth hung partially open, soundless.  
  
Zhang lifted a hand once he reached the two of them again and at his command Matt’s torturer loosened his grip around his throat and then stepped back completely. The singer dropped sideways onto the bed, taking deep, sharp breaths interspersed with coughs as the businessman examined him with a slightly raised eyebrow.  
  
“What is it that you want, Bellamy? Time?” He whispered, cocking his head to the side inquisitively. “People do desperate things to gain more time. Your friend, Michelle, for example.” Matt’s eyes shot up to meet Zhang’s at the mention of the flat’s owner. “Last night the whore babbled for hours about two English guests she had staying in this very apartment.  
  
“Tonight, when confronted about their identities, she denied all knowledge of you. Then she said she didn’t know who you were, that you were nothing but randomers that she’d helped out on a whim and that you‘d already left. After some more persuasion, she told us everything. To buy time, she offered to come home and extract information from you...” He shook his head as if the proposition had been absurd. “I don’t need a pathetic tranny who only earns me a couple of thousand dollars a week.” Matt and Dom exchanged an agonised look as Zhang paced the bedroom once more, lead in their stomachs as they realised what had probably happened to their delightful hostess.  
  
“Careful with what you offer, Bellamy... I might decide to ship you or your friend to Thailand, maybe you could be of some use to me there... or perhaps you’ll not leave Hong Kong alive at all.” Stepping closer to Matt again, he gestured to his two minions. “Congratulations, you’ve bought yourselves some time, Bellamy.” He looked intently into the blue eyes. “But nothing more.”  
  


***

  
  
The screens were still and lifeless.  
  
All the equipment in the space was primed and ready to run at maximum capacity, but so far there had been no sound and the pictures had remained static for a fair few hours now, only the required console buttons lit up.  
  
And then one of the screens suddenly came to live.  
  
A man spun in his chair, setting his glass of amber-coloured whisky firmly on the table, and he shot his eyes across the room to the source of the low beeping, to where an intermittently flashing green light was visible on the main control board. His companion was already on his feet, removing the two-way radio from the clip on his belt.  
  
“Alpha 1 speaking. We have a green light.”


	12. TWELVE

  
Without preamble, Matt and Dom’s captors freed their wrists and tossed the two trapped musicians their clothes, ordering them to get dressed. After making sure none of their belongings were left in the flat, the implacable criminals escorted both Englishmen outside, the latter very aware how the guns in their opponents’ pockets were aimed in their direction and that they would shoot without hesitation at any sign of an escape attempt.  
  
Shoved into a van with tinted windows, they were squashed between Zhang’s men, who sat near each of the doors, while Zhang himself chose the front seat beside the driver. Thigh pressed against Dom’s, Matt ventured a sideways glance at his friend. Pasty-skinned and dark eyed with weariness, the drummer didn’t return the look, his hands clasped together in his lap; he could conceal it well from strangers, but after years of touring and pre-gig antics, Matt could spot a nervy Dom with his eyes closed. He was a mess of nerves himself. His body was still sore and achy from the shock and the brutal violence it had been subjected to earlier, but that wasn’t the worst part. Yes, he had wanted badly to find Zhang, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He had no idea how they were going to get out of this situation. And sadly, the entrepreneur had been right; they had gained more time, but for what exactly, he wasn’t sure.  
  
The van was already traversing the relatively deserted roads of Hong Kong when Zhang addressed his men in the back, a gesture accompanying the abrupt instruction in Cantonese, after which the musicians were blindfolded with rough cloth. Matt couldn’t tell how long the ride took but it felt like an eternity, not being able to see only adding to his anxious state. Eventually they stopped and once their wrists were securely fastened behind their backs once more, they were pulled out of the vehicle and into the cold air of the February night. Matt inhaled, the salty, distinctive smell of seawater and fish invading his senses, and he got the impression they were close to the harbour, maybe at some dockside warehouse.  
  
They had no choice but to let themselves be steered somewhere indoors, trying hard not to trip, the clang of metal doors, or possibly gates, sliding shut following behind them. After climbing several flights of stairs as carefully as possible so as not to fall, which drew a few indecipherable grumbles from their escorts, they were made to stop. They didn’t have to wait for long to see what would happen next. Matt was shoved roughly in the back and he stumbled forward clumsily, losing his balance and landing on his knees on the hard floor. Barely avoiding falling flat on his face, he was rearranging himself to sit when another body slumped heavily on top of him with a grunt; despite the pain in his wrenched arm and shoulder, crushed underneath Dom’s weight, Matt's face heated with rage at the sound of derisive laughter coming from the doorway.  
  
The drummer rolled off him while the door, rusty metal by the sound of it, was locked, but Matt remained curled on his knees for a moment, catching his breath, all senses at maximum alert. The air was close and stuffy and he couldn’t hear anything beyond the thumping of his own heart in his ears. It seemed as though they’d been left alone. When he finally wriggled into a seated position, his leg bumped against the blond.  
  
“Dom,” he called. “Dom, we’re alone.”  
  
“Yeah.” His voice was thick and constricted. “I think so.”  
  
The blindfold was driving Matt mental. He inched closer to Dom and, leaning against his back, he lowered his head until he found his bound hands.  
  
“Take this thing off my eyes, just pull.”  
  
There was no response, despite Matt butting his face against his hands in impatience; Dom was frozen, as if he hadn’t heard him at all. But then his fingers gradually unfurled and reached out, pulling the material down over Matt’s nose.  
  
Matt shook his head, the strip of fabric falling around his neck, and he blinked, adjusting to the light, at last able to survey where they were being confined. It was a very small space, as he’d suspected, empty, dusty and also windowless. A weak bulb hung from the ceiling on a cable provided the only source of light.  
  
When the black haired man looked at his static companion again, he noticed Dom’s Adam’s apple bobbing, his teeth gritted and his jaw tight.  
  
“Dom, come on,” he half-pleaded. “Move, lower your head so I can take that thing off you.”  
  
Nodding haltingly, he leaned over somewhat awkwardly, until Matt shifted himself so he could get a hold of the blindfold. He pulled it up and over his friend’s head and dropped it on the floor. They could now see each other without restriction, but Dom avoided the blue eyes, swallowing thickly, and Matt’s heart lurched. Dom was scared shitless. So very different from the thrillingly confident and domineering man that had driven him to insane levels of pleasure only a few hours earlier... No, he couldn’t think of that now, he had to focus.  
  
“Dom,” he said. “Breathe, man.”  
  
Gazing upwards and shaking his head a couple of times as he rolled his shoulders, the drummer tried to loosen up, reign in his fear. When he faced his friend, the singer nodded at him in silent question; he nodded definitively once in return.  
  
“They need someone to take all the blame for what they did,” Dom said slowly after a long exhale, as if trying to force his brain to function again. “So there’s no point in hurting us, we just have to... we just need to cooperate and... they need us, to take the blame.”  
  
Matt didn’t have the heart to remind him that if Zhang felt threatened by them in any way, he might well conclude that getting rid of them was the best solution. He clenched his fists; they couldn’t let themselves freeze from panic or despair, they had to keep fighting. They’d come this far, they would keep going somehow and survive this.  
  
“We’re gonna have to improvise, right? Not sure what they want from -”  
  
Matt fell quiet upon hearing a noise outside. The door was unlocked and swung wide. Their two kidnappers had returned, and the captive men tensed, leaning towards each other unconsciously for protection. And then one of the two Asian gorillas was stepping inside, easily pulling Dom to his feet by one arm. The friends exchanged a distressed look as Dom was led out of the room, but no move was made to take Matt as well. Were they splitting them...?  
  
“Wait, wait...”  
  
No, no, no, not this. Not Dom. Matt shook his head frantically and rushed to stand. However, he was sent back onto his arse with a simple push to the chest.  
  
“No, wait! He doesn’t have anything to do with this! Where are you taking him?” Crawling onto his knees and then jumping up again, Matt couldn't do anything to prevent the door from slamming shut in front of his eyes, the last thing he saw Dom’s big grey eyes staring bleakly at him over his shoulder as he was led away. It felt like the tightness in Matt’s chest was preventing him from breathing. “You cunting bastards, come the fuck back here!”  
  
His voice didn’t even reverberate in the small room.  
  
Sinking to his knees in utter devastation, Matt ended up dropping to the floor in a defeated heap, a deep, chilling silence settling over him. He couldn't think, he couldn't calm down, he felt completely powerless and without a sliver of control over a single thing in his life. He curled into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest, cheek resting against the grubby floorboards.  
  
Why had he let Dom join him in that taxi at the airport? Why hadn’t he left Michelle’s flat earlier? What would he do with himself if something terrible happened to Dom? Because of him?  
  
For the first time since this hell had begun, Matt wished he could just hide away and sob himself to sleep. Until everything was right with the world again.  
  


***

  
  
Chris was helping Ava-Jo with her homework in the kitchen while Kelly cooked dinner, when his mobile rang. He looked at the device warily. Anonymous caller. It seemed like every phone call, every text message, every communication from the outside world he had received since arriving back in England had brought nothing but bad news. The only exception having occurred that day, when he’d been woken very early, at dawn, by a new tweet from  _Chessboard_pawn_.  
  
It had been a shot in the dark, to use Muse’s Twitter to try and get in contact with his missing band mates. Who knew where they were and what condition they were in, once it had become apparent that the plan of heading for the embassy had been ditched; the authorities were certainly clueless. But he realised it had been worth it the moment Alfie ran to tell him about a weird tweet he’d gotten - just like Chris had asked his whole family to do if they came across something out of the ordinary.  
  
He had spoken with Dom only a few hours ago but the relief he had felt at learning they were both physically unharmed was relative, considering the direness of the situation they found themselves in. Things were looking pretty grim overall and although they seemed to have found a lead to pursue, the reaction of the lawyers had been sceptical, to say the least. It would be difficult to investigate Zhang and they seemed more willing to check the surveillance cameras at the hotel in Melbourne if possible, claiming it could bring more concrete results, some evidence that could be used in their defence. They had also nagged him incessantly, demanding to know the source of this new information and whether he'd been in contact with his band mates. But he’d stood firm and refused to answer.   
  
Chris wished dearly that he could remember anything at all during the Big Day Out tour in Australia that had struck him as odd or suspicious, something that might have forewarned them of the tragic events currently taking place if only they’d been paying attention. But Kelly had been with him the whole time, the relaxed schedule and multiple days off making it feel like a vacation for the couple, and as a result he’d been more distracted than usual. He’d hardly even seen his band mates or the crew off stage, leaving Matt and Dom to their regular shenanigans, guessing the two were being slippery fuckers and hanging out with whoever, doing whatever, as per usual.  
  
And now everything had turned to shit. He selfishly wished that they had never fled the airport that afternoon; that they had waited for the police, answered all the questions truthfully and then let the lawyers do their job. Sure, there was a small possibility that Matt would have had to wait in prison until he was no longer a suspect, but it hadn’t been definite. Anything but this constant and never-ending worry that they were out there unprotected and vulnerable to the depredations of dangerous criminals who could, who knew, be intent on harming them. There had to be a safer way to prove Matt’s innocence.  
  
And now, as he stared at his ringing mobile phone, Kelly gazing at him with her lips pursed in question, he once more had a gut feeling that he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear.  
  
Walking into the living room as he picked up the call, knowing there would be no little ears eavesdropping, he had no difficulty recognising the voice at the other end of the line. They’d spoken several times since he returned from Hong Kong, of course, and to be perfectly honest, Chris much preferred her to her superior, that stuck-up bloke that he’d met at Heathrow on his arrival; she seemed far more understanding and infinitely less arrogant.  
  
His jaw dropped as cold facts were relayed to him, the nervousness and discomfort of the woman noticeable. At first Chris didn’t know what to think.  
  
“You’re telling me all these things I’m not supposed to know... and yet I’m pretty damn sure all my phones are fucking tapped. Illegally, too. What the hell is this, some trick?”  
  
“It’s not a ruse, but if you don’t believe me, I can't do anything about that. I do know that no one will know this conversation took place unless  _you_ reveal it.”  
  
After that, Chris was livid. And he exploded. For a few moments, he forgot how she had just shared confidential information with him; how she was risking her own job; how none of it was her fault. His angrily raised voice carried back to the kitchen and soon Kelly was standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised.  
  
When Chris finally disconnected, after expressing his gratitude for her help and an apology for his rudeness, but also having got a lot off his chest, he threw the mobile onto the couch and raked his hands through his hair. Would he be able to warn his two oblivious friends, lost somewhere in Hong Kong, in time? What if it was too late?  
  
Sensing his wife’s concerned eyes on him, he turned to her. “Fucking bastards. Disgusting motherfuckers,” he spat. “They’ve been used like puppets, Kelly. We’ve been used all along!”  
  


***

  
  
Matt couldn’t tell how long he had been laying there when he heard signs of life from the other side of the locked door. He sat up slowly; his face was numb, his hands were numb,  _he_ had been numb. But his heart was still beating, and fast, thunderously loud in the cramped space. Again, the door opened and he inhaled sharply at the sight of the familiar slim frame behind it. Dom was sent flying to the floor beside him and for a moment Matt didn’t move; then he realised that neither had Dom. He scrambled in his direction, uncoordinated without the use of his arms, unable to touch him to check he was okay.  
  
“Dom... Dom!”  
  
The drummer responded by rolling onto his side, and Matt’s stalled heart restarted. Good God, he’d really thought he could have been dead. Dom’s hands were free but there was a thin line of blood trickling out of his nose and his grey eyes were glassy and fixed.  
  
“What the fuck did you do to him?!” Matt turned back to their captors, fuming, one of them already coming closer. “What the hell -“ He struggled when a large hand grabbed his shoulder to lift him off the floor. “Let go of me you fucker! What the fuck did you do to him?!”  
  
“Quiet!”  
  
The man’s beefy arm swung forward and the back of his hand slapped Matt harshly across the face. The blow left him momentarily dazed, his split lip from earlier beginning to bleed again, and he was caught unawares as an arm wrapped around his waist from behind, pulling him up and dragging him backwards as if he were no more than a disobedient child. He kicked and squirmed furiously, but it was like fighting with a bear. The man was twice his size and there was no overpowering him  
  
“I’m not going anywhere! What the hell did you do to him?! Fucking cunts!”  
  
Only succeeding in earning himself another whack to the head, Matt had no choice but to let himself be taken, the sight of Dom motionless on the floor as he was hauled away leaving him deranged with fury.   
  
Forced to walk several long corridors, turning left and right, his feet scuffed stubbornly until they reached their destination. It was a small medical ward, maybe a doctor’s office. There were several white cabinets filled with medical supplies, expensive looking electronic equipment, a couple of stretchers on wheels and, against one of the walls, two chairs, of the type you’d find at the dentist. Matt had always had an irrational hatred of dentists. There was a young guy sitting at a desk, typing away on his laptop, and in front of a pristine white counter running along the far wall stood a man in a lab coat and latex gloves, his back to the new arrivals. Matt gritted his teeth as one of the men released his wrists, untied the blindfold that had dropped around his neck and removed his coat, forcing him into one of the chairs.  
  
The person in the lab coat turned around, an old Asian man in glasses with a plastic smile and, behind him, Matt could now see several syringes and glass vials lined up methodically on the bench top.   
  
“Hello, Mr. Bellamy.”  
  
Matt wanted Zhang, not some shitty pseudo doctor. He had never been so enraged, as if all reason and sense had been thrown to the wind.  
  
“Where’s Zhang?” The man stared at him blankly. “I only talk to him.”  
  
“Tonight you will be talking to me. Mr. Zhang is not here.”  
  
“No shit.” The singer narrowed his eyes, a heavy hand on his shoulder forcing him to lean back in the chair again. “Where the fuck is he? It’s him I want to talk to.”  
  
The doctor seemed amused and turned to the counter again. “You are very restless, Mr. Bellamy.” He extracted the translucent liquid from one of the vials into a syringe while the lackey rolled one of Matt’s sleeves up, pinning his wrist down to the arm of the chair and leaving the luminously white skin of his inner elbow exposed and vulnerable. “But I have something to calm you down... to make you more cooperative and talkative. There are a few questions we want you to answer.”  
  
The pieces suddenly clicked together in Matt’s brain and he understood what had probably happened to Dom. Not that the knowledge was much consolation. “That’s sodium thiopental, isn’t it?”  
  
This time the old doctor didn’t seem quite so condescending and he stilled for a moment, observing Matt curiously. “Close. Sodium amytal.”  
  
Everything Matt had read or heard about MK Ultra, truth serums and narcoanalysis came back to him in a rush. About subjects questioned in a semi-conscious state, people sometimes driven to make false confessions under the effects of the powerful drugs injected into their systems. In most cases they wouldn’t even recall the experience. Matt was convinced now that this was why he and Dom had been brought here – Zhang wanted to know exactly what they both knew, to assess what threat they actually presented; perhaps to see how helpful they'd be in recovering the laptop, too.  
  
“I’m not telling you a fucking thing. It’s not gonna work, I’ll lie, you won’t make me say anything I don’t want to. Think I don’t know how my body reacts to drugs?” Matt sneered, all bravado. What if the corrupt businessman decided he and Dom were not worth the hassle and just had them killed?   
  
“Your friend already talked, and so will you. But since you seem so reluctant,” he tapped the needle to rid it of air bubbles and expelled a small amount of liquid, “maybe I'll administer you a higher dose to start with.”  
  
With his arm held down firmly by Zhang’s hired thug, ready to subdue him at the merest hint of struggle, Matt could do nothing to stop the needle from perforating his skin. The doctor was none too gentle, and he grimaced as the poison coursed through his veins. He flexed his arm uselessly as soon as his sentinel stepped away, the doctor watching him with a triumphant expression.  
  
Putting down the syringe and grabbing a blood pressure cuff off a shelf, he pulled a small stool over to sit next to Matt. “Now we check your vital signs before the next dose.”  
  
“Fuck. You.”  
  
Twisting in the chair, Matt stretched his leg out and kicked as hard as he could, striking the man’s knee with surprising strength. Howling in pain and staggering away holding his abused joint, the old doctor let one of his compatriots deal with Matt, the singer held down again and reprimanded with a punch to the side of his face; he scarcely felt it. The man in the lab coat looked incensed, still rubbing his leg, but he was soon retaking his seat and picking up the syringe again.  
  
“You will regret that later...”  
  
He was reaching for Matt's arm once more when the young guy at the laptop shouted something, his face a picture of alarm. All eyes were upon him and although Matt couldn't understand a word of the conversation, even through the foggy lethargy that was beginning to invade his mind the Englishman knew something was wrong.  
  
They turned collectively to Matt, their expressions unpleasant, and one of them took a small black device, no bigger than a TV remote, out of a cabinet. Matt tried to lean away when he realised they were heading for him with the thing, but there was nowhere to go.   
  
The gadget was swept up and down his body several times, like a metal detector, but nothing happened. And then someone applied the same procedure to his black coat. It beeped. Matt’s head buzzed as he watched them fumbling frantically with the piece of clothing, the beeping speeding up as they reached a certain spot on the collar. They prised something off the black wool, too small for Matt to be able to tell what it was, and they examined it for a moment before dropping it to the floor and stomping on it with their feet.  
  
All four men turned to him again and one of the enforcers shook him roughly by his shoulders, eyes menacing. “Who is tracking you?”  
  
Matt’s jaw dropped. Tracking him? As in, someone following him... using a detection device? But... how?  
  
“Did police in airport put transmitter on you? Huh?” Each question was punctuated with a slap to the side of Matt’s head, the singer unable to react as he found himself momentarily shocked into immobility by the news. “Do you contact them?” The criminal was pulling out a gun, his counterpart approaching with bared teeth. “Who put transmitter on you?!”  
  
Matt shook his head weakly, flinching when he heard clattering coming from somewhere outside the room. All of a sudden there was a man at the door shouting instructions and, without warning, a massive blast boomed on one of the floors below. Chaos ensued.   
  
The two men who had taken Matt and Dom from Michelle’s flat were running into the hall with their guns drawn; the doctor cowering under the desk. A flurry of gunshots rang out somewhere in the building and Matt recoiled in terror, flinging his arms protectively over his head. The guy who had been at the laptop was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Matt sat up slowly and carefully once the shooting ceased and ominous silence settled in.   
  
The door was wide open and he was almost alone. If he was going to escape and find Dom, it had to be now.


	13. THIRTEEN

  
Trying to shake the dizziness away as he trailed the path back to the room where Dom had been left imprisoned, Matt racked his brain, wondering who could have possibly attached a tracking device to his coat, when they’d done it and for what reason. He had miraculously been granted an opportunity to escape as a result, but... what the hell was going on? This was all too much for his still fogged up brain to cope with. And he couldn't afford to waste energy on anything that didn't directly relate to finding Dom and getting out of this shithole unscathed. Everything else would have to wait.   
  
A couple of unfriendly looking people ran by the black haired man in the murky hallway, fortunately sparing him no more than a quick curious glance, but when Matt spotted yet another gang member at a distance, this one armed, he decided not to take any chances. Skidding into a smaller side corridor cluttered with old filing cabinets, he waited in silence as the man stomped by. He couldn't help but notice the collection of lab coats hanging from a coat rack on one of the walls. On impulse, he took one and put it on; it was a feeble attempt at a disguise but if he was in luck it would be enough to deter any unwanted scrutiny. He was forced to pause, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall for support, as a tremor racked his body. His blood pressure had to have dropped dramatically from the sodium amytal he had been injected with, but Matt was confident that those bastards would have needed to administer him with a lot more for him to be rendered unconscious.  
  
After a few minutes more retracing his steps, it was with infinite relief that the singer recognised the door to the room he'd been searching for. He was about to break into a run towards it when he found himself rooted to the floor in trepidation, it dawning on him that he didn't have the key.  
  
“Fuck it.”  
  
Going for it anyway, Matt pumped his fist in glee when he noticed he needn’t have worried - there was only a heavy barrel bolt latch, and no padlock. Double checking no one was around, he shucked the door open and barged into the small cell. He was greeted by the sight of his frail looking band mate, still sprawled awkwardly on the floor and apparently only semi-conscious.  
  
“Dom…” He was kneeling by his side in less than a second, shaking his shoulders and turning him over. The drummer’s grey eyes rolled back and he did not respond. “Dom, get up! We’ve gotta get outta here. Come on!” Pulling him up by one slack arm, Matt glanced nervously over his shoulder as he forced his friend into a seated position. Dom’s head lolled onto Matt’s shoulder, his body slumping against the singer's limply. “Shit, Dom, come on, get that fine fat arse off the floor!”  
  
“Better fat like mine than flat like yours...” Dom slurred against his neck, lifting a weighty arm around Matt’s shoulder for support with great difficulty.  
  
“Fucking wanker…” Matt’s lips curved into a genuine smile, an insult from Dom never having sounded so good or been so welcome. “Come on, get up before they come looking for us again...”  
  
Dom's legs refused to cooperate fully but the anxiety and adrenaline gave Matt a strength he never would have believed himself capable of and, pulling the drummer’s arm more securely around his neck, he hauled him up with gritted teeth, dragging him out of the room. The coast seemed clear when he scanned the area, trying to figure out which direction they had arrived from. There had been stairs, he recalled. Loud voices and echoing footsteps carried over from somewhere in the building and he jostled Dom against him to get him moving. They staggered along together, Matt forgetting he didn't believe in any deities as he prayed fervently that he and Dom didn't cross paths with any of the criminals.  
  
They reached the end of a hallway, several large windows in the wall of the adjacent corridor. There were no stairs in sight, but there was an elevator to the left. It was stopped at the lowest level and Matt pushed the call button, propping Dom against the wall and leaning on the windowsill to have a peek outside while they waited. They weren’t very high up, perhaps on the second floor, and the harbour was very close. They were definitely at a port, as he could see the shadowy outlines of warehouses and shipping containers. It took Matt a few seconds to notice several vehicles parked below, in the darkness. He gaped, eyes widening - they were police cars. He never thought he'd be so happy to see ‘The Man’. But how in the world had they got there? It had to have something to do with the tracking device they’d found on his coat!   
  
“Dom.” He patted the drummer’s chest insistently. “Dom, look. The police are here, their cars are outside!” Maybe this meant that they had finally figured out Zhang's scheme and how he had been the one behind the scandalous theft from Warners. “You hear that? Dom?” Placing a hand on the blond’s cheek, Matt turned his face to him, thumb inadvertently brushing over the small patch of dried blood below his nose. He tried to tame his vengeful, murderous thoughts by telling himself that at least Dom was recovering rapidly and moving with more ease now. “You feeling better?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. I’m alright, I’m fine...” Dom swallowed thickly. “We’re not gonna run away from the police any more, are we? Just wanna get out of here... go home…”  
  
Matt shook his head reassuringly. “No, no, we’re not gonna run any more, I promise we’ll go straight to them now.”  
  
The elevator pinged, the floor indicator showing it had reached the second floor, and the doors slid open. Dom got in first, no longer requiring Matt's assistance, and the singer followed him, punching the button for the lowest level. It would be a fast trip down and if they were fortunate enough not to see any of their captors and perhaps if there were more windows or maybe if they found the police right away... Matt’s conjecturing was ended by two armed men suddenly appearing at the end of the corridor. Their eyes met and the Englishman identified one of them as part of the group who had abducted them from Michelle’s place. Matt’s mouth went dry.  _Shit_.  
  
“Dom, get down!”  
  
The two musicians threw themselves against the walls of the elevator either side of the door just as a hail of bullets flew their way. They crouched low with their arms covering their heads, the noise deafening, bullet after bullet lodging in the walls and floor. Despite sliding closed with unnerving slowness, the elevator doors shut before more damage could be done and, with a jerk, the compartment started moving, shots still be being fired into the exterior doors. Matt breathed out loudly, his legs failing him as he slid to the floor, the back of his head thudding against the metallic wall.  
  
“I thought we were going down?”  
  
His eyes shot open at Dom’s words, the drummer on his feet, sounding confused but more alert as he gazed at the control panel. It displayed a big, red ‘3’ for the third floor, an illuminated arrow signalling they were going up, not down. Matt swore viciously in his head and scrabbled to his feet, rushing to press the emergency stop button, but nothing happened, despite him bashing it repeatedly. Multiple indicator lights were glowing, as they would during a malfunction, and there were several bullet holes marring the smooth aluminium. There was a jolt, the two musicians grabbing at each other for support, and the elevator stopped, having reached the top floor. The doors opened with a wrenching screech; the air outside was thick with smoke.  
  
“For fuck's sake, why isn’t this working?” Matt fiddled with the buttons and kicked the wall as if that would help, but to no avail - the elevator was no longer functioning, and wouldn’t be taking them anywhere any time soon.  
  
Walking carefully out, fairly confident his motor skills were sufficiently recovered, Dom surveyed the area for alternative exits and checked for the presence of others, keen for them not to be surprised yet again by someone who was definitely not looking for an autograph and a photo.  
  
There was a single door at the end of the hall, opposite the elevator; oversized and rather grand in the utilitarian surroundings. To Dom’s left, several large windows, like those on the second floor; a little ahead, halfway to the door, a corridor leading to the right. After only a few seconds of inhaling the smoke clogged air, Dom was coughing, covering his mouth and nose with his hand. The source definitely seemed to be down the hallway.  
  
Matt joined him, face wretched with concern, and they peeked into the corridor together. Their worst fears were confirmed - there were flames emanating from an open door. The fire was burning strongly and so extensive as to stop them from going in that direction for fear of being caught in it. The only option left seemed to be the imposing door opposite the elevator, so Matt advanced towards it boldly, not wanting to waste any more valuable time. It was doubtful there was anyone in the room beyond, at any rate.   
  
The windows in the hall did not open and, as he looked outside, Dom realised with some apprehension that the police cars they’d seen only minutes earlier were no longer visible; he didn't know whether that was a good sign or a bad sign. He then examined the side of the building, looking for an external fire escape. There was a flight of stairs that linked the ground to a metal platform at first floor level, but it didn’t go any higher. Aside from that, there was only a large pipe running down the wall, all the way from the roof to the cracked concrete below.  
  
Matt had tried without success to open the door and had returned to see what had gotten the blond’s attention.  
  
“I don't see any emergency exit here,” Dom said.  
  
“Fuck that, help me with breaking in.” Matt pointed to the door. “There must be a way out through there.”  
  
The smoke was stinging their eyes as Matt pushed on the door handle again, ineffectively bumping his shoulder against the wood panelling in an attempt to force the lock. Dom joined him and they coordinated their efforts to hit the door with the full weight of their bodies at the same time, both coughing as the fire spread insidiously and sucked the oxygen out of the air. The door initially gave no signs of budging but, after repeated strikes, it ultimately gave in. It swung open suddenly and the two friends fell into the room in a heap, limbs entwined. They quickly disentangled themselves, springing to their feet as they rubbed their battered shoulders.   
  
It was a spacious office, decorated with what was obviously quality furniture: heavy dark wood bookcases, glass-fronted cupboards, plush couches and abstract paintings on the walls. There were many papers spread across the broad mahogany desk and scattered on the floor, too, as if a strong gust of wind had blown them out of place. Matt grabbed one off the floor, but the writing was Cantonese and incomprehensible to him.   
  
There didn't seem to be an alternative way out, much to their distress, and they ended up looking to the room’s large windows, which faced the same side of the building as all the others they had seen so far, but these windows opened where those did not.  
  
The pipe Dom had spotted earlier ran right past one of them and would be accessible with the window pushed wide... A crazy idea popped into the drummer’s head and when he glanced at Matt, he realised that he seemed to be pondering the very same thing.  
  
“What if... you know... ” Matt spoke first, motioning to the pipe with calculatingly narrowed eyes.  
  
Dom weighed their chances. They were on the fourth floor; using the pipe as some sort of ladder to reach the ground, or at least the metal landing at the first floor, was bordering on dangerously stupid. There was no safety net below if they slipped. On the other hand, the fire was spreading, time was running out and there didn’t seem to be any other way out.   
  
Matt opened the window to make a closer inspection, noticing the thin metal loops that secured the pipe to the outside wall, where they could perhaps place their feet. Tricky but doable. If they fell, though... He eyed Dom worriedly. The drummer was probably still dazed and unsteady from the drugs administered during his interrogation.   
  
“You up for this, Dom?”  
  
Dom responded by climbing onto the sill and crouching in the open window, glad to be breathing the fresh, cold, salt-laced night air. He shook the pipe structure to check its stability; seemed solid enough.  
  
“We just have to hold onto the pole and slide down, right?” He turned to where Matt stood inside. “If strippers can do it...”  
  
Despite Dom's little smirk, an attempt to calm them both, Matt’s chest tightened painfully, and he wasn’t sure if it was due to the caustic smoke or the nerves. Maybe this wasn't such a brilliant idea after all. Or maybe he should go first. But Dom was already reaching a hand out to the pipe and carefully placing one foot and then the other on a metal loop, Matt gripping the windowsill apprehensively as he watched. The drummer circled the pipe with both arms, and, after giving the guitarist a reassuring nod, let himself slide down a short way, until his feet found the metal loop below. Matt watched him like a hawk, stiff and unblinking - if he looked away for even a millisecond, Dom would fall - as his friend descended in small, cautious increments until he reached the first floor metal platform at last, where he landed clumsily on his arse. He gave Matt a thumbs up, fussily adjusting his leather jacket, and the singer released the breath he’d been holding in a rush of relief, rubbing his palms on the stolen lab coat; he was sweating profusely from a combination of the heat from the approaching fire and gut-clenching dread.   
  
He climbed up onto the windowsill, stretching an arm out towards the pipe and preparing to join Dom... and froze.  
  
A group of men was approaching from a short distance behind the completely oblivious drummer, who was staring up at him expectantly with his hands on his hips. Before Matt could warn him, before he could even think of what to do, he was startled by a rustling noise from inside the office.   
  
Whipping around to look, Matt gasped, eyes wide, as he was confronted by the image of Zhang holding a gun. Pointed at him.  
  
He acted on instinct. Jumping back into the room, he narrowly avoided a burst of gunfire, the bullets passing within millimetres of him as he rolled across the floor to take shelter behind a couch. A glass-fronted liquor cabinet and one of the windows smashed, showering him with glass.  
  
“There’s no point in running, Bellamy.”  
  
Frantically scuttling between pieces of furniture, Matt kept managing to dodge the shots without really knowing how he was doing it. Zhang never took his finger off the trigger, yet always missed his target. In a matter of seconds, though, Matt found himself on all fours, with nothing to hide behind and nowhere to run to. When Zhang emerged into his line of sight amidst the smoke, blocking his way to the window which had so nearly been his salvation, it was to find Matt trapped in a corner, huddled on the floor with his knees held protectively against his chest and his back to the wall.  
  
He was going to die here. It seemed inevitable.  
  
“I am on a tight schedule but am so very pleased to see you,” Zhang said. “You can’t imagine the hassle you’re saving me by being here. I was convinced that you'd escaped and that I'd need to squander a considerable sum of money to find you again.... and now, thankfully, that won't be necessary.”  
  
“The police are here, if you kill me, they’ll know.” It was a last desperate effort, just as Matt noticed that the gun was being held with latex glove-shielded hands. There were no witnesses and there would be no fingerprints on the murder weapon. “They already know everything!” Irrationally attempting to back further away, he only succeeded in pressing his back harder against the wall.  
  
Zhang laughed derisively. “Thank you for everything. It was a pleasure working with you, Mr. Bellamy.” His eyes ran over Matt’s slight frame, taking in the white lab coat with clear amusement. “Or should I say  _Doctor_  Bellamy?”  
  
And he pulled the trigger.  
  
Matt squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the end, but the explosive bang of the bullet leaving the gun he had expected never came. There was a dull click, no more. And then silence. Followed by another click. One eye fluttered tentatively open to see Zhang gawking at the gun in pure disbelief. Had he run out of bullets?  
  
At that moment Matt felt as though the forces of the universe had finally aligned in his favour, and all the bad luck and misfortune that had haunted him recently had been erased. Zhang’s eyes met his and the singer’s jaw tensed, his brow drawn down in a threatening scowl. This was the man who had almost ruined his life, who had tortured one of the people he cared about most in the world and caused untold woe to the rest... Not to mention the worthless fucker had just tried to shoot him!  
  
Zhang took a hasty step back, but it was too late: Matt had sprung off the floor, utterly demented with rage, and launched himself in his direction with a fury such he had never known. Lunging at him like a bull, Matt’s head rammed into the man’s chest and propelled him backwards off his feet, the redundant weapon falling to the floor with a mundane thud. They hit the glass so violently, their impetus so strong and the open window where Matt had tried to escape so close, that they slid along the slippery surface and through the empty space, Zhang’s upper body ending up hanging outside the building in mid air.  
  
“No! No!!”  
  
Face contorted into an expression of absolute terror when he realised he was about to fall out of a window four storeys up, Zhang grabbed on to Matt, who was so blinded by wrath that he’d failed to realise that as he tried to throttle his enemy into submission, he was being pulled along with him. The businessman screamed in Cantonese as he clung on for dear life, his greater weight upsetting the musician's unsteady footing, and both of them tumbled over the sill. Matt acted instinctively, releasing the entrepreneur's neck and flailing out both hands, miraculously managing to turn himself around and grasp the edge of the window frame in a white knuckle grip.  
  
“Shit, shit, shit...”  
  
Matt could hardly breathe. When he found the courage to open his eyes and glance down, he found himself suspended a dozen metres above ground that was barely discernible in the pre-dawn darkness. Zhang had one hand bunched in the material of the lab coat, and it was all that was keeping him from falling. Gravity was too much for the singer's slippery fingers; he couldn’t find the strength to even try to move, instead focusing all his remaining energy on simply not letting go. Zhang was gasping and grunting as he tried to catch onto Matt’s leg with his free hand, the drag of the larger man's weight on his coat causing agony in his arms and shoulders, when a harsh ripping sound suddenly rent the night.  
  
Holding on tighter with desperately clenched teeth as the fabric tore completely and his body was wrenched downwards, Matt only vaguely registered the piercing scream as Zhang fell, the sickening thud of the criminal smacking into the metal platform below nothing next to his enormous relief at being free of his burden.  
  
Matt took a deep breath and willed himself lighter. He tried to prop his feet against the wall to give him some leverage to pull himself up, but they kept slipping against the building's smooth sides and panic gradually crept over him. His arms were quivering alarmingly as his muscles weakened with fatigue, and his precious fingers felt on the verge of fracturing. There was blood running down one of his wrists. Never before had he felt this heavy, his head about to explode from the strain.  
  
After all he’d been through in the past few days, all the ups and downs, the trials and tribulations, Zhang was finally exposed and more than likely dead, and Matt wasn’t going to live to see himself vindicated. His grip was going to fail and he was going to fall, suffering the indignity of going the same way as his tormentor.  
  
And he would never find out if Dom was safe...  
  
But then hands came, clasping his elbows with reassuring strength.  
  
They grabbed one shoulder, then the other. Matt heard movement, voices, as his body was hauled back through the window and laid to rest on the floor of the office, glass grinding beneath the soles of black boots next to his head. For a long moment, he couldn’t move, readjusting as the blood coursed through his veins, the pain in his upper body easing. When he eventually found the resolve to sit up and face his rescuers, he found several men dressed in dark uniforms hovering above him, all heavily armed and professionally intimidating. The smoke was thick above floor level, and Matt was seized by a coughing fit.  
  
“Matthew Bellamy?”  
  
He nodded dumbly, breathing with difficulty and unable to answer through his racking coughs. But then he remembered. “Dom.” His voice was so raspy and rough he barely recognised it. “Dom. Dom was...” He couldn’t stop coughing, eyes blurred with stinging tears, and obeyed numbly as someone pulled him to his feet and steered him along. “Where’s Dom, he was -“  
  
“There is a fire, you come with us now,” someone told him as they made their way through the cloying fog of smoke to a concealed opening in one of the office walls - he and Dom obviously having missed it earlier - which led to a flight of stairs.  
  
“But-“  
  
“You’re safe now, both of you. Answers come later.”  
  
At the moment, that was good enough for Matt and, exhausted, he asked no more.


	14. FOURTEEN

  
Shades of yellow and orange filled the horizon, warm colours gradually spreading to replace the cold blue of the night as twilight gave way to sunrise.   
  
A police car made its way across Hong Kong Island. Inside, Matt Bellamy stared numbly at his right hand, his fingers wrapped in thick bandages that made movement of the digits difficult and painful. He had a vague memory of seeing blood running down his wrist as he fought for his life, but he hadn’t registered how badly his hand had been sliced open by the glass, not until he'd been led to an ambulance to receive medical assistance after he’d exited the dockside warehouse he and Dom had been imprisoned in. By the time Matt was steered into the back seat of a police car, the fire that had ravaged the building almost extinguished by the fire service, he had recovered his energy somewhat, his cool... and his anger. No matter how many times he asked, no one would let him talk to Dom.   
  
“How many times do you need to be told that your friend is alright and you’ll see him at the police station soon?”  
  
Having been informed that Dom had been found standing outside the warehouse, impatiently waiting for his arrival, Matt concluded that it  _had_ been the police he had detected as he looked out the window, the uniformed men camouflaged by darkness he had seen creeping up behind the oblivious drummer. But Matt wouldn’t be at peace until he saw with his own eyes that Dom was alive, safe and sound.  
  
Finally inside a police station after three days on the run, heads turning as he walked in flanked by two officers, Matt heard the reassuringly familiar voice before he saw its owner, and his heart swelled with joy.  
  
Dom was arguing heatedly with a woman in uniform, clad only in the low-cut white t-shirt he'd been wearing underneath his leather jacket and his battered black skinnies, the muscles of his arm taut as he pointed an accusing finger towards his opponent, voice loud and abnormally edgy. But sensing the new arrivals, he quietened, and his grey eyes slowly swivelled to the door. They landed on a slight body wearing a ripped, dirty lab coat that had once been pristine white and only one shoe; he had a bandaged hand, a collection of bruises on his face and neck, patches of soot-blackened skin, his hair stuck out untidily... But when their eyes locked, there was no mistaking the mad scientist after an experiment gone awry for anyone but Matt. Matt and his bright, striking eyes, sparkling as his cheeks plumped out and a wide smile formed on his face... and Dom could do nothing but brace himself as his frontman ran towards him and pounced, enthusiastically tackling him to the floor. A bundle of skinny limbs rolled about in a mess of silliness, grunts and laughter filling the air, and it was as though they were twenty years old again. As if they were on stage after finishing a blinding set without a care in the world, the only goal to have as much fun as they possibly could.   
  
When they eventually came to a breathless halt, Matt’s face was buried in Dom's neck, the singer gasping and giggling while the blond squeezed him tight. The weight of Matt’s body on top of his was such a welcome comfort after all they'd been through.  
  
“I heard the shots and I saw the glass breaking... you didn’t come out... I thought you had...” Dom felt Matt stilling in his arms. “The police got me and I kept telling them you were alone up there and someone was trying to kill you... and all they said was that I was safe and that they had to get me to the fucking police station...”  
  
Matt propped himself on his elbows. “It was Zhang, he tried to shoot me. I... I think he's dead now...” Dom was staring up at him with obvious relief but also a shade apprehensively. “I didn't do anything, I swear! He ran out of bullets and we got into a fight and... and he fell out the window. I think he's dead. I thought I -” Matt sighed nervously. “I thought I was going to fall, too.” Closing his eyes, Matt was momentarily transported back to the living nightmare. He looked at Dom once more when he felt a reassuring pressure on his lower back. “But we’re here now, yeah?”  
  
A serene smile was playing on Matt’s lips, his blue eyes glistening as he gazed down at Dom with clear emotion, and the drummer swallowed, half-embarrassed, half-annoyed that there were strangers witnessing such an intensely personal moment. He wished so badly that they could be alone. Grasping the fabric of Matt’s lab coat tighter didn’t seem to be enough to convince Dom that he really was there with him and this wasn’t a cruel hallucination. The terror he had felt at the prospect of Matt being killed and his own desperation at being unable to make the police understand how important it was to reach his friend before it was too late… it was like all his worst nightmares had merged themselves into one and become real.   
  
“Gentlemen.” A female voice snapped them out of the moment, Dom awkwardly shifting his legs underneath Matt, the black haired musician sitting back on his knees and both turning to look at her. She motioned simply with one hand, indicating they should follow her.  
  
After Matt had shrugged off the lab coat, they were escorted by two officers to a neat, spacious office, its walls adorned with numerous commendations and honours. They sat in front of a large desk while a bulky man in uniform, who they had never seen before, stood behind it with his back turned to them, conversing in quiet Cantonese on the phone. There was a certain sense of poise about him; he exuded self-confidence.   
  
They were offered tea or coffee, and a plate of assorted biscuits was set on the desktop; they declined. When the man ended his call, he sat down comfortably and stared at them over his clasped hands. He smiled genially.  
  
“I am Deputy Commissioner Chen Chengjiang,” he introduced himself before shaking their hands, his round face still smiling. “And I am very pleased to have you both here with me finally, safe and sound.”  
  
Just then, a figure more familiar to Matt, carrying a folder in his hand, entered the office and closed the door behind him – Chief Superintendent Liu, who had initially interrogated him at the airport and later advised him to turn himself in over the phone. He greeted the two Englishmen with a simple nod of the head and stood behind the desk next to the Deputy Commissioner.  
  
“I want to go home,” Matt scowled, crossing his arms over his chest, eyeing both men with deep suspicion.  
  
“And we demand an official apology,” Dom added sweetly.  
  
Liu frowned and dropped the file he carried on the desk, a hand settling on the surface as he leaned forward. “Mr. Bellamy, things would have run much more smoothly and would have been considerably less dangerous for the two of you had you behaved differently. As I advised you from the start.”  
  
“Fuck. Off.” Matt narrowed his eyes, the Deputy Commissioner shifting uneasily in his seat, his thin lips stretched in a more strained smile now. “If I hadn’t run I’d be in prison right now, 'cos no one would have bothered to look into things properly. You just wanted someone to incriminate quickly and instead of investigating fairly, you allowed yourselves to be led like fucking sheep and wouldn’t have cared about the truth as long as you had someone to take the blame!”  
  
“You ran away -“  
  
“I ran away?” Matt laughed bitterly. “Funny you should mention that, because you interrogated me and seized my passport without telling me why I was being investigated, without giving me a clue as to what the fuck was going on.”  
  
“Actually,” the Deputy Commissioner calmly intervened before Liu could speak again. His face was as red as a tomato at Matt’s venomous accusations, the Englishman gesticulating madly with his hands. “By an ironic twist of fate and despite Zhang Hongbo’s plans, if you hadn’t gotten away from us we’d actually have found out sooner that you had indeed been the victim of a diabolical plan. Maybe we wouldn’t have found out all about Zhang and his activities within the Sun Yee On triad, but -“  
  
“What?” Dom boggled in confusion, throwing a quick sideways glance at Matt before continuing. “So he  _was_ a member of the triad? There is a triad involved after all?”  
  
“Certainly, Mr. Howard, as we have just confirmed to you,” Chen continued, smile never wavering. “Zhang was the leader of a well organised syndicate within the Sun Yee On. Mostly dedicated to illegal gambling – I trust you know gambling is illegal in Hong Kong – as well as prostitution and human trafficking, among other activities. We’ve been looking for him for a long time but his real identity has eluded us thus far. However, he is dead now and this time we have his body to confirm it.” He rested a hand on top of the file Liu had brought. “But yes, you’d have been free of charges sooner had you behaved more sensibly. That is in the past, though.”  
  
“I’d have been free of charges?” Chen’s pleasant expression only provoked Matt more. Fucking politicians. “Why's that? ‘Cos you’d have believed everything I said, maybe? Bollocks.”  
  
“Because we’d have gotten hold of your laptop sooner, been able to analyse its contents and would have found all the evidence of your innocence we needed right there,” he replied complacently, leaning back in his chair as he finished.  
  
Both Matt and Dom blinked at the news, surreptitiously exchanging a look. What was he on about? Had they heard right? Dom leaned forward cautiously and spoke. “What do you mean exactly when you say that the evidence was already there?”  
  
“Mr. Howard, this investigation began when Zhang went missing after an alleged shooting, which we now know was a farce. At the time, we were led to believe that the crime might have occurred as a consequence of your threats,” he looked directly at Matt, “through which you demanded he assist you in embezzling millions from Warner Music.” He took a sip from a glass of water. “Yes, Mr. Bellamy, you became the main suspect and we were also led to believe that evidence of your plans could be found in your personal laptop. That is why we wanted it.”  
  
“But when we finally had access to the computer, we discovered otherwise. We found many encrypted files in hidden folders with information about money laundering, plans on how to misdirect funds from Warner Music, even a record of the threatening e-mails you sent Zhang and his replies... But there was evidence the hard drive had been hacked as well, including a program that, according to our experts, served no purpose other than to implant information – false information – in your saved files and e-mail account.” Chen’s grin was victorious now. “It cost him dearly, as, up to this point, Zhang had managed to successfully erase almost all traces of his criminal involvement. They made a mistake and we are sure they must have become aware of it at some point, but it was too late. At any rate, we'd already found out the whole truth,” he quickly added. “And despite the fire tonight at his clandestine warehouse, which he probably set up himself, I am sure we have collected all the evidence we’ll need.” Once again, he leaned back in his chair smugly.  
  
It felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown in Matt’s face. After everything they had gone through... they’d had the proof of his innocence with them all along, even before they knew the full extent of his problems? He looked at his band mate carefully, half expecting to be berated for deciding to flee at the first hint of trouble, for being so terminally paranoid. But when Dom returned the gaze, Matt was relieved to see he was as stunned at the news as he was himself.   
  
If only they’d known, the singer lamented. But... how was he supposed to have figured that out, anyway? And what if Zhang had covered his tracks and there had been no trace of hacking in the computer? Well, if the Deputy Commissioner expected Matt to show some sort of regret over his actions, then he was shit out of luck. Plus there were many things that still hadn’t been explained.  
  
“So now that we have got this all -”  
  
“How’d you get my laptop, then?” Matt interrupted Chen. He remained unconvinced by the apparently benevolent intentions of the police; nothing he had heard so far made him any less distrustful of the authorities.   
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
“How. Did you get. My laptop?” The unease that passed over the Deputy Commissioner’s face was hard to miss. “Someone attacked us and nicked it. It wasn’t the police.”  
  
“The laptop... well, your laptop was...” Chen coughed and cleared his throat. “It was acquired in a joint effort between the Hong Kong Police and... and the British authorities,” he mumbled in a less audible voice. “It showed up at the British Embassy and they kindly handed it over to us last night.”  
  
“Ah,” Matt deadpanned. “It showed up at our embassy.”   
  
“Well, yes.” He seemed eager to drop the subject. “Now... what we really need to -“  
  
“And how did you discover where we were tonight?” Matt insisted, ignoring for the time being the baffled expression on Dom's face. Of course, he hadn't had the opportunity yet to tell him about the tracking device that had been planted on his coat.  
  
“We received a tip -” Chen stopped himself and traded a look with Liu, who only shrugged, silenced long before. The Deputy Commissioner’s stare was harder and decidedly less friendly when he addressed the two Englishmen again. “Mr. Bellamy, details of the investigation will be shared with you as we see fit. Right now what we find to be of the utmost importance is to have your own accounts of what has happened since you ran from the airport, and that is why you are here.”  
  
Matt took his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes wearily. One day he’d be able to laugh about it all.  
  


***

  
  
For the following few hours and in the presence of lawyers, Matt and Dom were questioned thoroughly about their activities over the previous few days, including the attacks by the duo who stole the laptop, and with particular emphasis on the sequence of events the previous night that had ended in Zhang’s death. Despite being made to repeat all the details over and over again, both musicians were in no doubt that Matt’s version of events was being taken as the truth.  
  
The guitarist decided to keep the part about the transmitter to himself, though he knew it had been responsible for the intervention of the police at the warehouse; he was convinced there was another party involved in the investigation that had been acting in the shadows. And he was positive the mysterious pair who had managed to trace them twice was connected to them. Whether the police really knew nothing about them, or were only pretending not to, Matt was inclined to believe that the Hong Kong authorities had been comprehensively hoodwinked by Zhang’s plan, and would have gone on believing Matt guilty had they not been the recipient of the fruits of someone else’s investigative work.   
  
All in all, it had been a miracle that he and Dom had survived. Zhang Hongbo was a dangerous man, his scheme no more than yet another stage in the continuous expansion of his criminal empire, which had spread from Hong Kong to Macau and the UK, and his fortune. The sum which had been planted in Matt’s bank account, large enough for him to get all the blame, was nothing when compared to the figures the auditors were reporting missing at Warners as they went through the long process of analysing the financial records of the company and all its subsidiaries.   
  
As they gave their statements, it also became clearer to everyone why Matt had been chosen as the scapegoat, especially when both musicians brought up how Zhang had implied Matt had done something to his daughter. Records of the nineteen year old currently studying in London had been produced and, although Dom didn’t recognise her from the pictures they had, Matt did. He had always been good at memorising faces. He often remembered fans from gig to gig and if a small episode was recounted to him, it would sometimes be enough to bring a face to his mind immediately.   
  
The girl in question had been backstage at the two gigs at the O2 venue in London, back in November. It had been a terrible week for Matt, and the last thing he’d wanted was to meet fans and make nice with promoters and record executives. Although he was able to avoid it the first night, having management apologise for his absence, on Friday the 13th, after the second gig, Matt had come out for a quick meet and greet at the after show party. It would be difficult  _not_ to recall the Asian girl: she had been loud and boisterous, behaving inappropriately and generally making a nuisance of herself. The spoiled daughter of a rich businessman who worked for Warners, they knew now. She had monopolised Matt, who had been polite nonetheless, and she couldn’t have made it more obvious that she fully expected to receive an invitation to his hotel room.   
  
It was unlikely his rejection alone had been enough to make him a target. But if her displeasure at her treatment had reached her father’s ears, it had certainly made Matt’s name stand out to Zhang, who had to have been planning the operation by then, and in need of a suitable candidate to take the fall for him.   
  
They were more photos to see besides those of Zhang’s daughter. Matt and Dom were also shown pictures of a body that had been found in the back of a van at the port – the van that had taken them to the warehouse – and they identified it with horror, their hearts clenching in sorrow. Michelle hadn’t stood a chance. An autopsy wouldn’t be necessary to determine the cause of death, what with several bullet holes marring her body, her face still covered in heavy make-up. Despite being informed of her criminal record, which came as no surprise to either of them anyway, they knew they’d always remember her as their flirty and entertaining hostess, a genuinely nice person who had helped them without ever asking for anything in return.  
  
Matt had been quiet for a long time after that, but her fate had awoken Dom to the fact that while Zhang was dead, the Sun Yee On still lived on. However, his concerns over whether Matt would suffer any backlash from the large organisation were mostly put to rest, the authorities firmly stating that most of Zhang’s activities had been for his own profit, never the triad’s. Unlike the Mafia, where all the syndicates worked like a family, in a triad they were often rivals. And with their leader dead, this particular group would be quickly dismantled, the other triad members offering no support as they tried to distance themselves from the fallout. Matt and the others had no reason to be concerned over anyone wanting revenge.   
  
  
  
At last, they were dismissed and allowed to leave not only the police station, but Hong Kong altogether, although they were warned the police would be working closely with the British authorities and that both of them should make themselves available for further questioning.   
  
The British Embassy was the destination that followed and they were positively swamped on their arrival. Diplomats, all sorts of advisors and even the Consul himself, offered their assistance with anything they might need, but their sole request was two first class seats on the next flight to London. More police and questioning almost certainly awaited them at Heathrow, but it was England, it was home.   
  
A room had been prepared for them to rest before the journey if they so desired, as well as clean clothes, food... Before all that, though, before they were given time for placing more than brief calls to family to assure them they were okay, Matt and Dom were informed that there was someone who wished to see them. It wasn’t a request.   
  
Steered by one of the secretaries to an elegant, colonial-style office, they were told to make themselves comfortable and then left on their own for a few moments. Matt sprawled carelessly on a velvet settee, contemplating putting his feet up on the small wooden coffee table that lay between him and two overstuffed armchairs, while Dom opted for sitting at his side in a slightly more dignified manner. It only took a couple of minutes for the prim middle-aged lady to return, bringing two men with her.   
  
Straightening up slowly, Matt exchanged a knowing look with Dom. Both dressed in slacks and button-down shirts, the two newcomers were instantly recognisable to them – they were the strangers that had followed them and stolen the laptop. The one they had encountered in the shopping centre car park wore a shoulder sling.   
  
“Would you like anything to drink? Tea, perhaps?” The secretary offered.  
  
“Yes, please, that would be most appreciated, Mildred. Thank you.” The one who had chased them through the public park replied, before turning to Matt and Dom with a polite smile, his hand outstretched in greeting. “I’m happy to have the chance for a proper introduction. I’m Lance Cole, and this is my colleague, Neil Daly.”   
  
Dom rose guardedly to his feet to shake his hand and nod his head in acknowledgement of the other, sullen looking man, the one he had twatted with the mop. Matt remained seated, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest and his eyes suspicious blue slits.  
  
“Who the fuck are you?” The singer raised his head in challenge, pointedly ignoring Cole’s hand and watching as Daly took one of the armchairs in silence.  
  
With an amused expression on his face, Lance Cole slipped his hand into his pocket after glancing at his companion. “Pleasure to meet you, again, Bellamy,” he smirked. “You’re a smart man. Who do you think we are?”   
  
Brow furrowed, Matt‘s eyes ran calculatingly over both men before he gave his answer. He should have known all along. “You work for the government.”  
  
“Don’t we all?”  
  
“Why did you put a transmitter on me?” He demanded immediately. Dom failed to conceal his puzzlement, at least to Matt, but Cole didn’t bat an eyelid. “It's true, isn't it? It was you.” When the man failed to respond, he turned to the drummer to explain. “These tossers had a tracking device; they stuck it on my coat to trace us, Dom. That’s how the police knew where we were last night, these two told them.” He jerked his head towards the agents. “How did you do it?”  
  
Cole chuckled. “Straight to business, I see. But very well, if you insist.” Sitting leisurely in the vacant armchair, he crossed one leg over the other. “It was at the park where we met for the second time,” he said. “We had to keep track of your location, didn’t we? You’re slippery, Bellamy. We didn’t expect you to be so hard to find and you got away from us the first time.”  
  
“So you searched for us  _why_? To steal my laptop, tag me like an animal and then throw us both back to the wolves?” The question was left hanging without a response. “What am I, fucking bait? How long was this shit going on for?”  
  
There was a knock at the door; the secretary returning with a tray of tea things. When asked for the millionth time that day if he’d like a cup, Matt was close to telling them to shove it up their royal arses. Cole, on the other hand, stirred his tea in lazy circles with a delicate silver spoon.   
  
“What you have to understand, Bellamy,” he began once they were alone again, “is that your role, your involvement in the fraud at Warners was slightly odd from the start, but there was no proof of your innocence.”  
  
“I thought people were supposed to be innocent until proven guilty.”   
  
“At first, our priority was to catch you before the local authorities.” Cole ignored Dom’s remark and sipped his tea before continuing. “Any information about the Sun Yee On is of interest to us, so we needed to get to you first. The pieces didn’t add up, though. Our first encounter, where Howard so kindly broke my colleague’s arm,” he looked aside to his scowling partner, while Dom avoided a snigger, “was very surprising in many ways. You seemed certain that we were part of the Sun Yee On; we examined the browsing history of the computer you used at the shopping centre and found you were doing your own research into the case. Above all, you hadn't destroyed the laptop, which would be the logical thing to do for anyone guilty in your situation.” Another sip. “So we changed our approach. Recovering the laptop intact became the priority and perhaps leaving you to your own devices wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”  
  
“What you mean is, you used me.” Matt’s voice was cold as ice. “You knew that I was innocent but you did nothing. You left us to fend for ourselves, against the police, against Zhang when you knew what he was capable of.”  
  
“No. I won’t deny it; initially we were interested to see who you’d contact while on the run. We only knew for sure you had been framed and that Zhang was the real culprit after analysing your laptop yesterday. Which in turn made us realise that a strange list of names we’ve had for awhile, which included your own name, was in fact a list of targets of his criminal organisation.” He paused to select a scone off the plate left by the secretary, his relaxed behaviour only adding to Matt’s sourness. “We know now that Zhang ended up pursuing you himself because he realised, too late, that his hacker had failed to do his job properly and had left incriminating evidence in your laptop. But by then you had the tracking device, so we knew right away when he discovered you and were able to intervene, putting into action an operation to rescue you -“  
  
“Liar. You fucking liars,” Matt hissed, gritting his teeth, inching to the edge of the settee. Cole was blatantly trying to pull the wool over their eyes and the singer was convinced that, from the beginning, all they had cared about was taking down the Sun Yee On. “You couldn’t give two shits about our safety! You just used me as bait, even after you had concrete proof I was innocent. You hid it away -“  
  
“That is incorrect, Bellamy. The proof we had always served to  _protect_ you. What you need to -“  
  
“You fucking knew I’d been set up!” Matt got up abruptly and went to stand over the seated Cole, his hands curled into fists. “And you still let me risk my life,  _his_ life,” he snapped, pointing at Dom, the drummer’s face creased in disgust. “You were expecting me to bring you the fuckers even if it cost us our lives!”   
  
The agent placed his teacup on the tray and faced Matt again. “Do you have any idea how rife with corruption our government - all governments - are, Bellamy? Do you understand how important it is to collect information and not throw away opportunities to reach the leaders of the criminal organisations that have such a huge hand in this corruption?”  
  
“I almost  _died_!” Matt nearly shouted in his face, eyes wide as he bent towards him. “You may not give a flying fuck, but I nearly fell out that fucking window! I don’t know how I managed to avoid being shot, I don't... I have no fucking idea how we survived!” Spittle flew out of his mouth as he poured all his outrage out on the impassive man in front of him. “And someone did die! Someone died because of  _me_ , someone who had nothing to do with -“  
  
“An unfortunate casualty.”  
  
“’ _Unfortunate casualty_ ’? Is that all Michelle is to you? Collateral damage?” He gripped his hair in fury, twirling on the spot to stop himself from punching Cole in his self-satisfied face. “Her name was Michelle, you disgraceful son of a bitch! She had a _name_!” A kick aimed at the coffee table set the tea things rattling noisily. “Who the  _fuck_ do you think we are? Fucking soldiers? You think you can do whatever the hell you want with us, like some wannabe James Bond? Suppose I'm gonna get a medal now, for services to my country?!”  
  
Rising from his armchair with a slightly less imperturbable expression, but never losing his poise, Cole moved to the desk in front of the window, Matt kicking the table again in frustration. A spoon dropped to the floor with a clang in the silence.  
  
“Matt...” Dom whispered, getting up and taking a step in his direction, seeing no use in all this, no matter how revolted he was by the whole business. But Matt was spinning on his heel, before the blond’s hand could reach his shoulder, to stalk after Cole.  
  
“Know what I’m gonna do?” The singer banged his fist on the desk. “You’re absolutely fucking right, there’s too much shit going on in our country. The economy, privacy invasion, climate change... The system doesn’t work and people need to wake up. ‘Cos you know things are seriously screwed up when the government doesn’t put its people’s lives above everything else.” He paused to catch his breath. “I’m gonna tell everyone the truth about what happened here. I don't care how many interviews I have to give, I won’t even wait till I get home.”  
  
Taking the chair behind the desk, Cole tilted his head to the side. “Very well, then. Call your publicists, your agents, your management... get them to organise it so you can talk to the press.”  
  
His composure was telling, it was obvious he didn’t feel remotely threatened. It only encouraged Matt further. They’d probably try to silence him, to discredit him, to ridicule him; he didn’t care. He was used to being mocked, and accusations of being a paranoid freak wouldn’t deter him, either. “You can fucking bet I will.”  
  
“And you think you are prepared to tell all, Bellamy?” Opening a drawer, Cole lifted out a large envelope. “To expose yourself to the world and accept the consequences?” Matt's heart beat faster, though he wasn't sure why. What was in that envelope? “I hoped we wouldn’t have to do this, but...” He opened the envelope and shook the contents onto the desktop, revealing a stack of photos. Arching his eyebrow at the top one, he leaned back in his chair. “We found some pictures in the possession of the triad associates that you helped us capture... Pictures that I believe may have been taken a few weeks ago in... Australia, I think it was?”  
  
And he pushed the photos towards a frozen Matt.  
  
Dom couldn’t see anything from where he was standing, but he didn’t think he had to, a chill of awareness already running down his spine. No.   
  
Matt didn’t move a muscle, his eyes glued to the top picture, only the edges of the others underneath visible. It had been taken at night and there was little light, but he had no trouble identifying the two male figures next to the window of a hotel room it depicted. The intimacy was unmistakeable. It had been taken in Adelaide, he remembered that balcony. And the heat, and...  
  
“There isn't much to see in the first one and the next few are relatively tame... but then there are others, lots of others, in very... high resolution, shall we say.” And his eyes intentionally flickered to Dom.   
  
“You fucking pigs,” Dom spat, seeing for the first time some expression on Daly’s blank face, a small smirk, the silent agent idly stroking the arm in the sling.  
  
“Everyone has their price and their limits, Howard.” Standing to an imposing height, Cole placed his palms flat on the wooden surface between them. “So, Bellamy, you either accept our deepest, heartfelt apologies for any inconvenience you may have suffered, our thanks on behalf of the United Kingdom and Hong Kong for helping in the capture of dangerous criminals... and our offer of compensation to assist you in getting on with your lives... or I believe you two should start preparing yourselves for the consequences of pictures of such an, ah, personal nature being leaked to the media. They love a scandal, as you know; even more so when they are paid handsomely to focus attention on one,” his voice took on a menacing tone, the air in the room heavy with implication. “I should also remind you that you have deliberately evaded the authorities and grievously assaulted a Secret Intelligent Service agent...” He let the sentence linger. “You’re a talented musician, Matthew, as is your close friend, and you deserve all the success you have. My advice to you is to stick to what you’re good at and leave matters that do not concern you to the professionals, who know how to deal with them.”  
  
Matt’s eyes glazed over as the words were spoken, and he suddenly felt utterly drained. His whole body slackened, all the tension, as well as his tenacity, flowing out of his weighted body.   
  
There was nothing left to say. He silently turned away and, avoiding all eyes, walked out of the room. 


	15. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading this. 
> 
> Unavoidable to thank our boys, really. They are such an inspiration. Apologies for, once again, making them suffer in fiction I like to imagine that if they suffer in fiction, then they won’t in real life, as I wish them nothing less than good luck and happiness 
> 
> And of course, big shout out to Anya! Can’t thank you enough for being my beta and actually co-writing at many moments!  
> English not being my native language, and despite having written fic before, I never did anything this long and after awhile one starts to feel the limitations. No way I’d be able to finish this without her, most likely I’d still be editing the first chapter now :p
> 
> I doubt I will ever be able to hear the song ‘Resistance’ again without thinking of this story, it's always so special to hear it live. This, though, will always be one of my favourite performances of it:  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=mrUWAqmYRJ4

  
  
For days now, a return to England had been all they desperately craved. More than anything, being able to go home had represented an end to their troubles.   
  
Finally, with midnight approaching, Matt and Dom sat in the first class cabin of a plane ready for take-off. And in thirteen hours, give or take, they’d find themselves in London.   
  
Dom fell asleep before he’d even managed to recline his plush seat, his head drooping to his shoulder, the dull overhead light shining off his blond hair; Matt remained awake, switching from staring dully at his personal TV to gazing thoughtfully at Dom.  
  
The word ‘relief’ didn’t even begin to cover how he was feeling. His life had undergone such a rollercoaster ride over the last few days that, now Matt looked back and took in the magnitude of what had happened, he could scarcely fathom how he had managed to cope with it all, let alone survive it. His body was wracked with chills as memories resurfaced.   
  
The healing process would be slow. Before he could comprehend how such a brief, seemingly insignificant fan meeting could impact on his life in such a bruising way; before he could overcome the fact that he’d been unjustly accused of crimes he had no knowledge of and how they’d both been put in lethal danger as a consequence, scandalously used without a semblance of concern from anyone involved. It would be a long time before he could accept that he was powerless to do anything about it, having been humiliatingly blackmailed into silence with no more than a stack of photos. Jeopardising the band’s image and exposing Dom to uncomfortable scrutiny, when the drummer treasured his privacy, was simply not an option, especially when there was no guarantee that speaking out would produce the result he sought.  
  
It revolted Matt, ate away at him, made him want to sit at a piano and pound away at the keys until he emptied himself of all his frustration and anger, and made the world feel like a slightly less shitty place to be.  
  
He thought of the brief conversation he’d had with his ex-girlfriend before boarding. After the meeting with the Secret Intelligence Service agents at the British Embassy, he and Dom had spent the remaining time until their flight on the phone to family, friends, management. And despite knowing little of the intricacy of the situation, Gaia had told him something that had resonated with him: that Matt thrived on challenge and how that manifested itself in all parts of his life. Adversity had always driven him further, like when he became a widely respected singer even though people initially ridiculed his voice, or when he started a fight with someone he loved half because he wanted the pleasure of reconciliation afterwards. For the first time in months, Matt had felt at peace with her and knew, no matter what, they would always care for each other. It was a surprisingly positive result of the pain of their break-up, knowing he had a friend for life in Gaia.   
  
Maybe she was right. Who knew, maybe once he overcame his disgust with the world, he’d find something beneficial had come of this ordeal, too.  
  
He let his eyes wander back to the man sleeping peacefully beside him. There were certain feelings, new and decidedly interesting feelings, that had to be faced, too. One moment it felt like they had spouted from nowhere; the next as if they had always been there and it was his perception and awareness of them that had changed. One way or another, it was scary. These were feelings that made him nervous, unsettled, caused butterflies to flutter in his stomach like before a big show... but they also left him with a pleasant little glow of fulfilment...   
  
Matt realised he had been sleeping when a familiar hand slid underneath the blanket covering his lap and landed with casual possessiveness on his inner thigh. Eyes snapping open, he found Dom’s face close to his as he leaned over him with a comforting smile.  
  
“Alright?” The soothing voice tickling Matt’s ear made him feel a tad giddy as a wave of warmth washed through his body; he even felt his cheeks flush. “Straighten up, we’re landing in a few minutes.” Dom squeezed his leg gently and then removed his hand. Matt wished he'd left it there.  
  
They had no luggage to collect, the belongings they'd had with them in Hong Kong still with the police, who they wouldn't be meeting with until the following day, so after passport control, they went straight past baggage reclaim and through customs to the arrivals hall... where they were confronted by a waiting crowd of journalists and photographers. The two friends froze in shock, blinded by camera flashes as the other passengers darted out of the way as the media swarm began to close in on them, firing questions. Dom glanced anxiously at Matt, who looked waxen and ill at the intrusion. He was close to all-out panic, and Dom was determined that he shouldn’t have to deal with this after all they’d been through. Ignoring everyone surrounding them with consummate ease, he took his aviators, which had miraculously survived their tribulations unscathed, from the breast pocket of his leather jacket and slipped them on. Unleashing his most charming grin, he slung an affectionately protective arm around Matt.   
  
“Let’s go.”  
  
They crossed the terminal to the exit, Dom with his head held high, dazzling the photographers with his smile, Matt with his eyes trained shyly on the floor, the discomfort constricting his chest easing as Dom shielded him. Airport security was helpful for once, quickly finding them a taxi, and before he knew it they were on their way, Dom giving his address in South Kensington to the driver.   
  
The typical grey sky of an early February morning in London stretching above them, they reached Dom's flat and collected the keys from the porter, taking the lift up. No more soulless hotels, no more people demanding attention, no more commotion. Dom watched as the elevator doors slid shut and, almost with a mind of its own, his hand reached out, searching for Matt's. It was cold when he took it and, wordlessly, he enlaced their fingers, squeezing gently to imbue Matt's flesh with his own warmth. It felt right.   
  
Reaching Dom’s floor, they walked with joined hands, and the moment they entered the flat and the door locked behind them, Dom pulled Matt to him. He cupped his face with both hands and, dipping forward, pressed their lips together.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Dom whispered against his mouth, his eyes shut. He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I’m so sorry, but I really need to do this. Been wanting to do it for so long, ever since you arrived at the police station.”  
  
Tentatively opening his eyes, his heart pounded frantically in his chest as hands moved to rest at his waist. Matt was staring at him with quiet intensity in the darkness of the foyer. Then he smiled.   
  
“Dunno what you’re on about...”   
  
The gap between them closed as his arms wrapped around Dom, Matt's lips brushing softly over the blond’s, one kiss becoming two becoming three. His hands slid up to hold Dom’s neck, heads tilting, mouths parting longingly. Their tongues met, touching and stroking in unhurried exploration, without fear.   
  
When Matt broke away with a contented sigh, he rested his forehead on Dom’s shoulder, snuggling his body into the other man’s, surrendering completely.   
  
“This is... this is bloody mental...”   
  
“It is a bit, yeah.” The drummer smiled, stroking Matt’s back reflexively at the feeling of stubble grazing his neck, the hot breath on his sensitive skin shiver-inducing. He clutched the slight man tighter, and slender fingers reacted by grasping more firmly at his hair. Dom knew where home was now. It wasn’t England, it wasn’t Nice, it wasn't a house or an actual place; home was  _this_.  
  
“You can take a shower and grab something to wear out of my wardrobe,” Dom murmured. “You want something to eat? I'll get it for you.”  
  
“Mmmm, no. Just want to sleep until the next ice age kicks in.”  
  
Dom laughed lightly and nodded. The idea was rather appealing.   
  
They slipped out of each other’s arms, Matt toeing his shoes off on the way to Dom’s bedroom. The blond could hear the shower in his en suite bathroom running as he checked one of the guest rooms to make sure it was ready for Matt and opened the blinds in the living room and kitchen.  _I definitely need to go shopping later_ , Dom thought. He could still hear running water, so decided to use the main bathroom to take a long, hot, relaxing shower himself. All his muscles ached as if he had taken a savage beating, and he mentally scheduled himself a full-body massage for later in the week. The month long break they had could not have come at a better time; it would give him time to visit his mother, he’d promised to pop down to Devon to let her fuss over him, and it was always fun to visit Chris, Kelly and the kids. He mustn’t forget to stop by his sister’s, too, or she’d have his head on a plate. They should really rehearse as well, with their biggest ever tour of the States imminent... and everything would be alright in time.   
  
Leaving the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, whistling tunelessly, he was in high spirits despite his physical exhaustion. Planning to check on Matt and then have a kip, even though he’d slept for nearly 12 hours during the flight, he came to a halt in the doorway of his bedroom. Matt was in his bed, dwarfed by the king-sized mattress as he lay curled into himself under the duvet, face serene in sleep.  
  
He couldn’t be sure of Matt’s intentions, if he even had any, but one thing was certain: there was no way he would let Matt force him out of his own bed.  
  


 

***

  
  
  
There was a buzzing in the back of Dom’s head and when he rolled over in bed and bumped into a slack-limbed, sleep warm Matt, he realised the sound was his doorbell.   
  
Half-awake, he groggily pulled on a t-shirt and uncharacteristically loose pair of jeans over his boxer briefs, but almost bounced into alertness when he looked through the peephole and saw who was on the other side of his front door. Swinging it open right away, he grabbed a beaming Tom for a strong hug.  
  
“Jesus, don’t think I've ever been so happy to see your monobrow!”   
  
They thumped each other’s backs with wide grins on their faces, before Dom finally let the media manager come inside.   
  
“Christ, been held by the Hong Kong Police this whole time, fuckers wouldn’t let me go. Arrived yesterday and haven’t seen anyone else yet.”  
  
“We’re due to give our statements tomorrow. We’ll be there the whole day, I imagine.”   
  
Tom had a few shopping bags with him, and Dom helped him carry them to the living room, where the brunet looked around with his hands on his hips. “Matt’s asleep?”   
  
“Yeah, he’ll be out for the next decade, I expect. Can’t blame him. What have you got here?” Dom asked, peeking into one of the bags.  
  
“Booze and some snacks. Figured you wouldn’t have anything here. Chris was late getting to London, by the way, but he should be arriving soon.”   
  
There was a soft grumbling coming from the hallway and they both turned towards it. It was Matt, wearing an old pair of red tracksuit bottoms that Dom wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in public; they clashed horribly with the pink t-shirt he'd also borrowed. He was yawning and rubbing his eyes, but broke into a delighted smile when he spotted Tom, who was already striding over to him for an enthusiastic hug.   
  
“The fuck did you do to your hair?” Tom enquired, Matt ruffling it at the back and grinning sheepishly at Dom, who snickered. “Everyone worried to death about you, locked up in a police station going through God knows what, and you had time to dye your hair? What the fuck?”  
  
“The hair, Tom, was one of Matt’s genius ideas for staying incognito.”  
  
“Eh? To block mind control rays and satellite tracking? Tin foil, mate. Tin foil does the trick, not hair dye!”   
  
“Blimey, Tom, how many times did we watch ‘The Fugitive’?” Matt’s voice was still throaty with sleep, but he was awake enough to notice Dom sniggering discreetly at Tom’s mockery, which he responded to by giving him the finger. “What’s in there?”   
  
Tom flopped down on a couch, chuckling as Matt immediately went to investigate the bags, curious as ever, his eyes shining like a kid’s at Christmas when he discovered what was inside.  
  
“Fancy that!” He pulled a bottle of red wine and a six-pack of beer out. “Fucking hell, Captain Kirk, I knew there was a reason we’ve been friends for so long. Dom, go and get us a bucket full of ice.”  
  
The media manager eyes moved nostalgically between his two best friends. They had started bickering over whether they should put the beers in the fridge or get a bucket with ice and keep them in the living room. “Like an old married couple,” he said, shaking his head indulgently, the two of them ceasing their squabbling to stare at him. “Cannot believe I wondered for real if I’d ever get to see this again.”  
  
Matt’s gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, the bottle of red wine gripped tightly in his hand, and, for a fleeting moment, Tom thought he saw a shadow darken Matt’s face, giving him a glimpse of the gravity of what he'd been through.  
  
The doorbell rang again and Dom hurried to answer it. “I’ll get that, it’s gotta be Chris.”  
  
It was. The bassist was unshaven and vaguely disreputable, as they all were, but his grin was huge. There was a long group hug, and it was difficult to stop themselves from tearing up, however 'unmanly' it was. They were all just so relieved, and it was the first time they'd all been together since that doomed afternoon at the airport in Hong Kong, which was less than a week ago, but felt like several lifetimes.  
  
“Just arrived with Kelly,” Chris explained, slumping onto the nearest couch and taking the drink Tom was holding out to him. “Is it true the airport was full of reporters? Heard something about it on the radio.”  
  
“Yeah. It was brilliant,” Dom smirked, easily catching a can thrown his way and perching on the arm of the sofa next to Chris. “You should’ve seen Matt’s face, thought he was gonna blow chunks right there!”   
  
Matt swigged red wine directly from the bottle, eyeing the drummer narrowly . “You loved that, didn’t you? Acting the camera whore, soaking up all the attention. You’ve been fucking impossible ever since I let you play front man in Italy. Knew it was a mistake to allow you out from behind your kit.”  
  
“A bloke gets spoiled,” Dom drawled, hopping over Chris to spreadeagle himself on the couch. “You get used to a certain level of attention, what with particular band members spending half their time tweeting pictures of you to the fans.”  
  
Chris doubled over with laughter, barely dodging the DVD remote Matt flung at Dom in a fit of pique.   
  
They ordered takeaways, shared around drinks, talked about it all; laughter intertwining with deep moments of sombre silence, rage and indignation. Hectic times awaited them; meetings with the police, the lawyers, the label and management to attend; family and friends to visit; statements to release to the media. It was nice just to have the chance to hang out.  
  
Dom wondered about all of this and more as he leaned against the rail of the small balcony off his living room, smoking as he stared into the winter night. It was cold, but he couldn't be arsed to pull on more clothes. The light chatter of his friends and Matt's high-pitched giggles behind him were slowly petering out as the effects of alcohol, jet lag and fatigue started to show.  
  
There were some important things Dom needed to take care of. Things that needed to be said, revealed. Some of these were things he probably should have shared with the people he trusted the most a long time ago. He hadn’t felt ready before; but he was now.  
  
There was someone approaching him from behind. He didn’t have to turn to see who it was, he'd know his presence anywhere.   
  
He let Matt take the cigarette he’d been holding, the brushing of their fingers sending tingles coursing up his arm. The impact of every small touch between them was doing Dom’s head in. Leaning on his side against the rail to look at him, Dom watched as Matt took a drag and blew the smoke out, handing the cigarette back. His lips were curved up in an intriguing little smile and they observed each other unabashedly for a long moment. There was still so much left unsaid. And yet, it was at times like this that Dom felt that there was no need for more, that their connection, the bond they'd had since they were teenagers, was so strong that words were no longer required. He felt it now more than ever.  
  
Life was too short. It was a cliché, and he couldn’t exactly claim he hadn’t been trying to live his life to the fullest already, but some statements were a cliché for a reason, and it had never seemed truer than it did now. It had taken being perilously close to being permanently separated for Dom to realise how badly he wanted to share everything he felt with Matt. And with him standing in front of Dom so tranquilly, so openly, the drummer knew that nothing like this could ever come between them. All barriers had been destroyed. There was nothing he hadn’t experienced with Matt, there was nothing he could or would want to keep from him. Including the fact that it had been because of Matt himself that Dom had understood a couple of years earlier that he could never be entirely happy in a relationship with a woman – or another man; with anybody other than his best friend since adolescence. That it had been Matt who had unknowingly helped Dom discover himself; that Matt truly was, and always would be, a part of him.   
  
“There’s something I need to tell you.”  
  
“You'll tell me later,” Matt breathed, leaning his head back against the wall, eyes falling shut for a brief moment, the biting night breeze caressing his hair.  
  
Dom was caught by surprise. Matt not vibrating with eagerness, not keen to know immediately what was being kept from him? Instead, he was making it difficult for Dom to concentrate, the drummer swallowing heavily at the sight of his exposed neck, at the way he leaned with languid grace against the wall, body all angles and shadow. And then his mouth twisted slightly, mischievously. What the hell was Matt up to? Did he... know?  
  
“But I want to tell you now.” Dom was struggling to keep his hands to himself as his body screamed at him to stride over to the other man and take what he wanted. “It’s about that question you asked me when we... at Michelle’s. You wanted to know how I knew that -”  
  
“I said,  _later_ ,” Matt repeated, all amused impiety. He grazed the back of his head over the wall, eyelids drooping invitingly as he curled his talented fingers around the handrail. “Tell me later when we go to bed...”   
  
The world seemed to stop for Dom, nothing existing beyond the boundaries of the balcony they shared. He was reminded of the cigarette between his fingers when Matt pitched forward to take it again, the promising glint in his sapphire eyes impossible to miss.   
  
He didn’t even notice Chris arriving until the bassist was standing right next to them, his booming voice snapping him out of his Matt-induced trance. Chris looked assessingly between the two of them for a second, but if he noticed something strange, he didn’t say so. Apparently everything appeared normal, despite how Dom could feel Matt’s gaze burning into him as he leisurely finished the cigarette. He wished he’d look away, it was making him light-headed.  
  
“Me and Tom, we’re going, it’s getting late. “  
  
“Why don’t you crash here?” Dom asked, shaking himself to attention. “Plenty of room for everyone, no need to go out in the cold and dark.” He prayed Chris wouldn’t accept his invitation.  
  
“Yeah, yeah. And I can stay in Dom’s room, he doesn’t mind.” Matt’s voice raised the hair on his arms, prickling his skin with anticipation. “Do you, Dom?”  
  
Chris looked between them again, Dom chuckling awkwardly and doing his best to ignore Matt as the heat rose in his body, hoping he didn't appear flustered. But Chris seemed to be completely unfazed, though it was obvious he was aware something was up.  
  
“The missus is waiting, sorry.”  
  
They arranged to have dinner the following evening, provided Matt and Dom were released by the police in time, and said goodbye, the drummer seeing the two men to the door when the taxi they had called arrived.  
  
The flat was flooded by silence in the wake of their departure, and Dom took a deep, fortifying breath before returning to the living room. Matt had shut the doors to the balcony and turned off most of the lights in his absence. He furrowed his brow when he couldn’t spot him, but as he slowly padded inside, he realised the singer was lying on the black leather sofa. His head was resting on the arm, body fully stretched along the cushions, skinny ankles crossed. He had both hands in his pockets and a smirk plastered on his face.   
  
“I like your couch.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dom crossed his arms in front of his chest, biting his lip, a grin threatening to emerge. “Got it last month. Want the address of the shop?”  
  
“Ever shagged on it?”  
  
The piercing blue gaze was like a beacon in the darkness, glistening with promise, luring him in. Dom drew closer until he stood over Matt's prone form “You think it’s got the potential?”   
  
Matt scooted against the back and, though there wasn’t really room for a second person, that was all the invitation Dom needed to sit on the edge, his body turned towards his friend.   
  
“I think it’s worth a try.”  
  
Dom could tell when the gaze dropped to his mouth, watching as the thin but pouty lips parted temptingly, and his breathing sped up as excitement rushed through him. Resting one hand by the singer's head and the other on the back of the couch for support, Dom’s upper body bent over Matt, their faces a breath apart.   
  
His voice was no more than a husky whisper as he closed the gap between them.  
  
“I think so, too. I really do.”  
  
  
  
 _The End_  
  
  
  
  
  
 _Resistance_  
  
 _Is our secret safe tonight_  
 _And are we out of sight_  
 _Or will our world come tumbling down?_  
 _Will they find our hiding place_  
 _Is this our last embrace_  
 _Or will the walls start caving in?_  
  
 _(It could be wrong, could be wrong) But it should have been right_  
 _(It could be wrong, could be wrong) To let our hearts ignite_  
 _(It could be wrong, could be wrong) Are we digging a hole?_  
 _(It could be wrong, could be wrong) This is out of control_  
  
 _(It could be wrong, could be wrong) It can never last_  
 _(It could be wrong, could be wrong) Must erase it fast_  
 _(It could be wrong, could be wrong) But it could have been right_  
 _(It could be wrong, could be...)_  
  
 _Love is our resistance_  
 _They'll keep us apart and they won't to stop breaking us down_  
 _Hold me_  
 _Our lips must always be sealed_  
  
 _If we live a life in fear_  
 _I'll wait a thousand years_  
 _Just to see you smile again_  
  
 _Kill your prayers for love and peace_  
 _You'll wake the thought police_  
 _We can't hide the truth inside_  
  
 _(It could be wrong, could be wrong) But it should have been right_  
 _(It could be wrong, could be wrong) To let our hearts ignite_  
 _(It could be wrong, could be wrong) Are we digging a hole?_  
  
 _(It could be wrong, could be wrong) This is out of control_  
 _(It could be wrong, could be wrong) It can never last_  
 _(It could be wrong, could be wrong) Must erase it fast_  
 _(It could be wrong, could be wrong) But it could have been right_  
 _(It could be wrong, could be...)_  
  
 _Love is our resistance_  
 _They'll keep us apart and they won't stop breaking us down_  
 _Hold me_  
 _Our lips must always be sealed_  
  
 _The night has reached its end_  
 _We can't pretend_  
 _We must run_  
 _We must run_  
 _It's time to run_  
 _Take us away from here_  
 _Protect us from further harm_  
 _Resistance_


End file.
